


A Coffee Kind Of Day

by Ymas



Series: Rubbish - Ridiculous - Reasonable [2]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/pseuds/Ymas
Summary: The smutty not-so-little companion piece to Rubbish - Ridiculous - Reasonable.Or: The Five Times They Didn't Talk About It and The One Time They Did.Elaborates on this paragraph in the main story:And yes, they may have ended up in a mad heap of insanity in the same bed a couple of times lately.Which has led to James discovering some frankly stunning things.How much Jeremy loves giving head, for example. Or how much he wants, or rather needs, to be held afterwards. And cuddled and petted and taken care of, although he would never ask and would kill them if they'd ever mention it.Or that Richard turns into an incoherent, quivering mess under either Jeremy's mouth or James' hands. That he likes it when they make him beg. That he loves to fuck James.That James loves to be fucked.They sleep together, really sleep together, in the same bed, sharing covers and pillows and space. And, unexpectedly, James loves that, too.And then they kiss each other good morning, get up, and act as if it had never happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter picks up right after this paragraph:  
  
He was never quite sure about Richard, still isn't, which made it all the better, all the more unexpected, when he reacted the way he did to James running a hand down his back. An absent-minded, unplanned, unprompted, entirely unintentional gesture, which had James freeze up in horror at his blunder.  
But Richard, amazingly, had leaned into the touch before turning around and kissing him straight on the mouth, tongue and teeth and everything.  
And Jeremy had looked on from his perch on the barstool at the kitchen counter, looked on in stunned, turned-on silence before he'd said "bugger it all", took off his reading glasses, hopped down and joined in enthusiastically.

It becomes pretty damn clear pretty damn quickly that Jeremy hasn't done this before.  
  
But Richard has. And so has James, even though most of his experiences consist of hurried hand- or blowjobs with various crewmembers in various storage rooms and empty hangars.  
Plus, of course, the two memorable months almost entirely spent in the company of Lajos, the Hungarian camera assistant who was only with them for a single series.  
Which was probably for the best.  
  
Jeremy is nervous, skittish but trying to cover for it, compensate with extra brashness. Like he's wont to do. His hands move too fast, too rough, rampantly scratching and bumping, trying to take the lead but being a hindrance more than anything.  
  
James slows him down with a kiss, soft and unhurried and tender. He captures Jeremy's fluttering hands in his own, holds them steady, lets the kiss linger, not too deep, just lips on lips, but with an intimacy Jeremy’s hands could have never matched, breathing each other's air, until finally Jeremy relaxes into it, and stills, and sighs, and stills entirely.  
  
James lets go of his hands, lets go of all of him with a last gentle nip at his lower lip, then turns around and demonstrates on Richard.  
  
And oh, god, Richard.  
Just the _thought_ of being allowed to touch that gorgeous bundle of energy.  
Let alone _doing_ it.  
James has to concentrate very hard, for a moment there, to keep his brain online.  
  
And Richard comes to him, meets him half-way with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for setting things on fire together with Jeremy. James takes it as a compliment.  
They fit together with an ease that is nothing short of astonishing, ridding each other of clothing while kissing and touching, like it’s a dance, a mindless choreography to the rhythm of both their hearts.  
  
Once naked, James gathers Richard in his arms, touches and kisses and lays him down, out, on the bed in front of him. _Experiments_.  
  
And it’s beautiful, Richard being almost obscenely responsive, blatantly arching into James' touch, unashamedly vocalising his approval, his encouragement, in a way that has James never once feeling insecure, never once doubting his actions. He takes his cues, reads them, reacts. Runs his hands over smooth skin, scratches over taunt nipples, nuzzles earlobes and bellybuttons, kisses over quivering muscle, revels in the sensation of making Richard feel, of Richard making _him_ feel.  
  
And Richard, flushed and eager, _responds_.  
  
Of course James doesn't forget Jeremy, not for a second, and when Richard is well and properly worked up, an incoherent puddle of panted nonsense-words and shuddering reactions, he reaches for him, reaches back for Jeremy's hand, interlacing their fingers, and lets their joined hands hover for a second over Richard's body.  
  
Richard _shakes_.  
So does Jeremy, but for entirely different reasons.  
  
James guides Jeremy's hand down and over Richard, over the softness in the hollows of his hips, the ridges of his ribs, the coarser feel of bristly skin over his chest, gives him time to adjust, brushes over the hard nipples in passing a couple of times, before letting their joined hands linger there, then letting go, letting Jeremy explore for himself, play on his own.  
Until Richard’s continuous streak of coursing morphs into broken whimpers of ‘come on’ and 'please' and ‘please’ and ‘come on’ and then he recaptures Jeremy’s hand, presses a kiss to the palm and places it firmly on Richard's hard cock.  
  
Jeremy half-flinches away and Richard half-sobs "No, Jez, yes, please", and Jeremy catches himself, gulps, and grips cautiously.  
  
It takes two tentative strokes for him to lever himself up on his knees and shuffle closer for better access, getting into it in earnest.  
  
James’ brain almost goes offline for the second time this evening at the mere image. He kisses Richard one more time, sloppy on open mouth and slack lips, then rises up on his own knees and leans over him to undo Jeremy's buttons. Shirt first, then trousers.  
  
Jeremy twists to give him access but doesn’t look away from his hand on Richard. And James peels the shirt back, careful not to disrupt Jeremy's rhythm, then mouths along his shoulder and up his neck until he can feel Jeremy shiver under his lips, which makes James glow with pride at a task well accomplished.  
  
He scoots back over to kneel by Richard's head and, on a whim, kisses him upside down.  
Because it's silly, but he wants to. Because he's allowed.  
Because he _can_.  
  
Richard twists his fingers into James's hair, holding him there, nose to chin, and violently shudders into and through his release.  
  
James chuckles, kisses him some more. The wrong way down and then the right way up, before leaving him where he is, all of the quaking, heaving, panting 150 pounds of him, in favour of pouncing on Jeremy, who is staring at his come-streaked hand with a rather stunned expression.  
  
James tackles him backwards on the bed, making quick work of getting him all the way out of his shirt and halfway out of his boxers.  
  
He's not very subtle, doesn't demonstrate much in the way of skill and finesse. But he gets his hand in between them, capturing them both, and then it's inelegant rutting, delicious friction, gaze locked to Jeremy's wide-eyed one.  
  
Suddenly Richard is right there, presses up against the both of them, slides his hand in between them, searching for and finding James', which is already slick with sweat and precome from one, or the other, or the both of them. For a few strokes they work in unison, almost in sync, and James can hardly believe how good it feels, how right, and he could come then and there if he’d let himself.  
  
But he won't. Doesn’t.  
  
And then Richard pulls back, disentangles his hand and moves up Jeremy's body. And James watches, incredulous, as he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into Jeremy's mouth and oh, the bastard.  
The dirty, dirty bastard.  
  
Jeremy moans, a desperate, high-pitched sound, and latches on like a drowning man. His head is thrashing from side to side, but he's sucking, sucking, and James can’t suppress a moan of his own, feels the tingling in his spine spread, double in intensity at the realization that Jeremy can taste him, his pre-come, and himself, and Richard, too, of course, because surely Richard has wiped himself down with that hand first and Jeremy is now sucking hard at the combined taste of the three of them.  
  
It's an overwhelming thought, beautiful, so unspeakably meaningful, momentous really, and it fills James with joy, makes him feel utterly complete, makes him jerk harder, press down harder, and Jeremy looks completely undone already so James gives himself permission, lets himself tip over into a semi-controlled orgasm right before Jeremy spurts hot and heavy into his hand.  
  
He can do that, James. Stay in control until the very end, stay mostly in control even through it. He's proud of it. It makes him such a good and attentive sex-partner.  
  
Jeremy is still suckling on Richard's fingers through tiny, whimpering noises when James has caught his breath enough to look up.... and is met straight on by Richard's curious, assessing gaze.  
  
Richard holds James' eyes for a seemingly endless moment, dark and intense, then bends down to kiss Jeremy on the forehead, on one cheek first, then the other, carefully removes his fingers and uses them to cup the side of James' face instead, still spit-wet and warm.  
  
"James", he whispers, "That wasn’t… James, I want to give you... one day I want to make you feel... I want…”  
  
His stumbling whisper is interrupted by Jeremy, who’s fidgeting, struggling with deep, wheezing breaths and quite obviously experiencing a very un-Jeremy-like moment of freaking out.  
"Bloody hell", he pants, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Bloody fucking hell. Oh, fucking bloody hell."  
  
Richard gives James a look he should probably be able to interpret but which is a complete mystery to him, then diverts his full attention to Jeremy.  
  
"Hey, whoah, mate, it's alright", he soothes, pulling a sheet up to cover Jeremy, trying to make him feel, James realizes with a surge of pure affection, less vulnerable. "This is the year 2012, Jezza. And it's just us. Just you, and me, and James. It's alright, I promise.”  
  
James roots through the blankets for his underpants and takes them and himself off to the bathroom, letting Richard deal with Jeremy and the situation.  
He is just so much better at these things than James is.  
  
He takes his time with his nightly routine, eventually returning to the bedroom in his pyjamas with zero idea of what to expect.  
The freak-out, thankfully, seems to be over. Richard and Jeremy are back in their pants and have each added one of James' t-shirts.  
  
"I'll borrow your shower, mate, be right back", Richard says on the way out, but then he hesitates in the doorway. "Or, uhm, you could go first, if you wanted?" he offers to Jeremy, the only sign that something out of the ordinary has happened. Is happening.  
  
"Nah, can't be bothered", Jeremy yawns, burying deeper into the covers and swatting a dismissive hand in Richard's direction.  
  
Richard laughs and disappears and James is left standing in the middle of the room, completely dumbfounded, trying to take in the fact that he will apparently share his king-size tonight for the first time since... well, Lajos.  
And no one, except for Lajos, has ever been allowed that far in. Never, before or after Lajos, has James shared his bed with anyone.  
  
He's looking forward to it.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
James is the first one awake in the morning and for a few minutes he just continues to lie there, revelling in the feeling of being close to someone else. And enjoying it.  
  
Jeremy is curled around Richard, close, but both giving James the space they know he needs to feel comfortable. Jeremy, though, has sometime during the night reached a hand across Richard to rest it over James' ribs, right over his heart.  
  
It's wonderful and James wants to stop time and stay like this forever.  
  
But they are already running late, so he gets up, kisses them both good morning to grumbled protests of 'cold' and 'too early' and ‘sod off’ and goes to take a shower.  
  
By the time he’s done, they are both in the kitchen, preparing breakfast and acting as if nothing remarkable has happened.  
  
Richard has made coffee and James shrugs and pours himself a mug. Today, evidently, is a coffee kind of day. He needs to get a grip on reality.  
  
And then it’s beans, and some toast, and more coffee, before they all drive their separate cars to Dunsfold.  
  
And the night is never mentioned again.  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
It's been appointment after meeting after deadline for days, no time whatsoever for any sort of social life outside of the TopGear crew or, more accurately, outside of the three of them.  
Not that James has much of a social life outside of TopGear at any given time.  
Not that it bothers him in the least.  
  
But he knows Jeremy and Richard have, and the stress and constant close proximity sometimes grate.  
However, they almost always manage to finish the day on a laugh, which James thinks is far more than many a married couple can claim. And right now, sitting in the backseat, listening to his two best mates bickering about the merits (or lack thereof) of Richard's newly acquired Landrover, James knows that he truly has everything he needs.  
  
They have decided on staying at Richard's London flat tonight simply because it's closest to the excruciatingly boring charity event Andy made them attend. Andy had also pretty much banned them from drinking any alcohol there, which made it all the more boring and excruciating, but that hadn’t actually been that much of a surprise.  
Not after last time, when Jeremy had tossed a glass of rosé into Piers Morgan’s face after he'd made an actual pass at Richard. Which had led to Richard clipping Jeremy on the jaw because “What do you think you're fucking playing at, knight in shining armour? I don't need you to defend my virtue, you moron!” Which had led to a tussle between the two of them, which James had tried to break up, which then had led to all three of them being thrown out.  
Piers Morgan, by that time, had long disappeared into the crowd.  
  
It hadn't made the papers. There may have been lawyers involved. Very, very expensive lawyers. They owe Andy one.  
Or maybe very many.  
  
Which is why Richard drives them through central London in his brand new Landrover, Jeremy takes the piss, and then, finally, James pours drinks.  
  
Rosé for Jeremy, white for himself, G&T for Richard.  
  
They sit on Richard's big sofa, momentarily talked out, and James ponders if he should switch on the TV or go right to bed after his wine. They have another early start tomorrow but he's still rather wound up. So is Jeremy, apparently, bouncing his knee in a way that makes the coffee table rattle and James grind his teeth.  
  
"Have I ever properly apologized to you for hitting you the other day, mate?" Richard suddenly asks, apropos of exactly nothing, swirling the gin in his glass and peering up at Jeremy through long, dark lashes. It's kind of a sultry look, totally intentional for sure, and it makes much of the blood in James' brain very suddenly dislocate to his groin.  
  
"You didn't hit me. You took an uncoordinated swing which, by sheer coincidence, kind of glanced off my jaw", Jeremy says distractedly without even properly looking at him.  
  
James, on the other hand, is utterly unable to look away.  
  
"Mhmmmm." Richard lifts his chin, a defiant gesture that finally makes Jeremy look up, and pins him with an intense stare.  
"You realize, of course", he drawls, suggestively stretching the words like chewing gum, "if you admit that I hit you, I'll have more to apologize for."  
  
The rattling stops.  
The world grinds to a halt.  
Jeremy's gulp is clearly audible through the surreal fabric of suspended time.  
James freezes with the glass halfway to his mouth.  
  
"Oh, really? And how would you go about that, then?" Jeremy asks, surprisingly composed, if a little shaky.  
  
Richard takes a sip of his drink, not breaking eye contact. The grin spreading over his face is slow and cheeky at first, but quickly turns predatory. "I might let you suck my cock."  
  
James sets his glass down with far too much force, completely misjudging distance. It breaks, wine spilling everywhere. Neither of the other two even looks over.  
  
"Would you, now. How generous. And what exactly makes you think I'd want to do that?" Jeremy asks, very levelly, very calmly, but James can tell how much it costs him.  
  
"Oh, I know you", Richard smirks. "You'll love it." He finally breaks eye contact, looks over at James. "And you'll love to watch, James, won't you?"  
  
"Would", Jeremy says.  
  
"Will", Richard corrects. "If not today, then sometime soon. It really is inevitable."  
  
Jeremy clears his throat, looks like he wants to protest, frowns, clears it again. There's a beat of silence, then he says: "Well, in that case, let's get it over with, shall we?"  
  
To Richard's credit he only looks surprised for all of three seconds before he's is up and out of the room in a flash.  
  
Jeremy bemusedly shakes his head, downs his rosé in one go, refills the glass to the brim and takes it with him when he gets up to follow Richard in a much slower fashion.  
  
He stops in the doorway, not turning around. "Coming, May?"  
  
And James, for a second, very much doubts that he should.  
Once is happenstance. Can be brushed off.  
  
Twice is still coincidence but much harder to ignore when it's about something that you so desperately want but most certainly can't have.  
  
"Please?" Jeremy adds, and rationality goes out the window.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Richard is ready, in his boxers, on the bed, pillow tucked behind his back, covers shoved down his legs and out of the way.  
  
He is beautiful, all smooth skin and lean muscle.  
James plucks the glass out of Jeremy's hand and knocks back half of it in one big gulp.  
  
"Oi", Jeremy protests, grabbing it back and emptying the rest of it down his own throat. "I believe I need that more than you do!"  
  
Richard watches them with a smile on his face, smug and affectionate in equal measures. "Can we move it on, gentlemen? It's just that we're supposed to race cars in a couple of hours."  
  
James shrugs. "Sure."  
  
Jeremy blinks. “Seriously?”  
He looks from his empty glass to James, to Richard, back to James.  
"This is madness", he declares. "This is literal insanity."  
  
James barks out a laugh because: "What else is new?"  
  
"You!" It's mostly accusing and maybe a little desperate. "You're supposed to stop us, you're supposed to be the sensible one, you know you are!"  
  
"I really, really won't, though, this is just too good", James says mildly, unable to stop a grin. Seeing Jeremy's wild eyes he takes pity on him, though, sighs. "This is your decision, Jez. I won't take it off you."  
  
"Don't worry, you'll love it", Richard adds with absolute certainty.  
  
The same certainty with which he'd said things to Jeremy like 'you'll love Vietnam' or 'you'll love the new M4' or 'James needs a cat'.  
  
He's never once been wrong.  
  
Jeremy seems to know it, too.  
He stares at Richard for another long moment, assessing, contemplating, before nodding determinedly. He slowly starts to unbutton his shirt.  
His fingers tremble slightly, but by the time it's off and he's unlacing his shoes, he seems to be mostly back to his usual bravado.  
  
"What about May?" he asks, because James is just standing there, watching Jeremy and asking himself if any of this is real.  
  
"Yeah, him, too", Richard winks at James. "Go ahead, Slow. Off."  
  
Jeremy snorts and shucks his shoes and socks in quick succession, then straightens up, meeting James' eyes straight on with his patent challenging expression.  
He leaves his jeans on, though.  
  
James isn't quite sure what part he will be playing in the ongoing developments, feeling dizzy with the implications of what lies ahead. He follows Jeremy's example with his own shoes and socks and shirt, but keeps his undershirt on in addition to his jeans.  
He doesn't want to assume.  
  
Surprisingly, it's _him_ Richard beckons over first and he goes automatically, is promptly dragged on the bed and into a kiss, deep and sensual.  
And it's easy like breathing, the single most natural thing in the world.  
  
James momentarily forgets all about his trepidations, all about his insecurities, all the trivial things like where he is, who he is, what he's doing and how it came to be, getting completely lost in the moment, and it's shocking how a simple kiss can do that.  
Only this kiss is anything but simple.  
  
"Ey, wasn't this supposed to be about me?" Jeremy pouts, and Richard chuckles and that brings James back to the present, reminds him of what he's doing and who he's doing it with and that he's the only one invested, the only one not just doing it for fun.  
That he needs to be careful.  
Guard his heart.  
  
He tears himself away, reluctant but determined, and turns to Jeremy who's still standing in the middle of the room, barechested and barefoot, looking decidedly flushed.  
Decides then and there that it doesn't matter, the reasons really don't matter, nor do the motivations.  
He'll take this, he'll gladly take this and enjoy the hell out of it while it lasts.  
  
"Not everything is about you, Clarkson, you need to learn patience", Richard scolds mildly, pulling James into another passionate kiss, just for the sake of demonstration obviously, but then releases him and reaches out a hand towards Jeremy. "Alright, come here already."  
Which is very obviously enough to make the thought of what he is about to do catch up with Jeremy. He hesitates, all of his only recently regained bravado very suddenly very absent.  
  
"Go get him, James", Richard instructs, giving James a little nudge and oh, that's what he is playing at, the bossy git. James' physical reaction is instant and a bit terrifying. Christ, just Richard's voice when he gets like that pretty much does it for him. James has been made aware of that fact through a series of very awkward studio recordings and Live Shows over the years.  
  
Given recent developments he suddenly very strongly suspects that Richard might have known for a while.  
  
He slides off the bed and pads over to Jeremy, who is awkwardly shifting from bare foot to bare foot. Sucking in his stomach, the idiot.  
James reaches out, places a hand flat against the soft bulk and Jeremy almost flinches away before visibly forcing himself to stand his ground.  
  
"'S alright", James murmurs, running his hand up and down between his sternum and bellybutton. "You won't be able to keep that up all night. And, anyway, we've _seen_ you."  
And he hopes it conveys much more than just the bare words do.  
  
Jeremy exhales on a resigned rush and James carefully places his other hand in the back of Jeremy's neck and tugs him down for a kiss, working against all the tension and tightly coiled muscles.  
  
"It's ok to be nervous", James whispers against his lips.  
  
"Who's nervous?" Jeremy's shaky voice is fooling exactly no one.  
  
"Being nervous is part of it", James says, ignoring him completely. "But we won't do anything you don't want to do. Just so we're clear."  
  
Jeremy's eyes flicker over James's shoulder to where Richard is still on the bed, watching them, perfectly still. Waiting.  
And whatever he sees there, whatever it is Richard does or doesn't do, is enough for some of the tension to bleed out of Jeremy, to smooth his features into an outright affectionate look. "Don't be such a mellow old cock, May."  
  
"Oh, you'll come to appreciate it, yet", James says smugly and it grounds him again, because that look has almost made him forget that this means nothing, that this is all non-committal fun.  
  
It also startles a laugh out of Jeremy and James can hear Richard sniggering in the background and it's just the best thing in the world, making them laugh.  
  
He kisses Jeremy again and this time Jeremy responds, parts his lips and lets him in, growing soft and pliant under James's hands and mouth. James walks him backwards, carefully guiding him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he plops down heavily. It gives James fantastic access, standing between his legs, and he kisses him some more, and then some more still, until finally Jeremy's hands come up, roam over James' back, up to his shoulders and back down again, settling on James' buttocks and giving an experimental squeeze.  
James feels his jeans tighten around his groin, chuckles slightly and, as a little reward, yields to let Jeremy dominate the kiss.  
And, oh, does Jeremy do, enthusiastically so, using quite a lot of tongue, and James has to concede that he is a bloody good kisser. He doesn’t quite manage to stifle the needy moan that escapes him.  
  
And it's like Jeremy has waited for his cue and this is it.  
He growls lowly and his hands move from James' arse to the bare skin under James' shirt before he breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head.  
  
They are back at it in seconds and then James has to tear himself away, make himself stop, or else he might climb into Jeremy's lap and that would be quite at odds with his standards of dignity, even in an exceptional situation like this.  
  
He scoots up on the end of the bed instead, pulling Jeremy with him, and then he has to pause to simply look at Richard for a moment.  
  
Jeremy next to him stills, too, and together they drink in the sight of Richard like this, leaning up against the headboard, all flustered and quite obviously extremely turned on.  
With a lascivious smile on his face and a hand down the front of his boxers.  
  
"Look, at him, Jez”, James murmurs, and he doesn’t even try to hide his awe. "All laid out for us. Eager and ready."  
  
Jeremy swallows, staring at the evidence tenting Richard's boxers. Then he licks his lips and swallows again and James wouldn't quite put his bets on nervousness alone. Not anymore.  
  
"Been for a while. Ready, that is", Richard says roughly, but his eyes are twinkling mischievously and there is definitely amusement in it. "So whenever you two old men have quite caught up, we can move it along, please."  
  
Sweat beads on Jeremy's forehead. James reaches up and wipes it away with his palm, strokes back damp hair. "Ok?" he asks.  
  
"I have literally no idea," Jeremy rasps, eyes glued to the bulge Richard is lazily stroking.  
  
"Let's do it together, then."  
  
Jeremy still stares. "Do what?"  
  
"Well, getting him out of these pants ought to be our first order of priority, I'd say", James clarifies gently and Jeremy's eyes kind of glaze over and lose focus, but without moving away from Richard.  
  
"Ah", he says. No more.  
  
"Have we broken him?" Richard whispers.  
  
"You have, maybe. Me, I haven't done much of anything." James drops a kiss to Jeremy's bare shoulder, then scrambles over Richard, briefly but strategically straddling him to be able to lean in for a kiss and some extra-teasing. "Yet."  
  
"Not much of anything, my arse", Richard pants, all breathless, when James moves on and over all the way to his other side.  
  
And he’s enjoying himself so very much, James. He reaches over and lifts Jeremy's chin with his index finger, waiting for him to focus.  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
Jeremy nods, shrugs.  
  
"Well, go ahead, then", James says, gesturing to Richard's boxers.  
  
"Oh, goddamnit, fucking _finally_", Richard groans and hurriedly takes his own hand out of the way.  
James’ quip about how it should really be _finally fucking_ dies in his throat, because that's the exact moment when he and Jeremy make contact, both at precisely the same time, and Richard arches up and his head hits the headboard with a thud.  
  
He's _shaking_.  
  
It's _fascinating_.  
  
James and Jeremy work together to peel the boxers off, touching skin and brushing sensitive areas, but slowly, very slowly, even though Richard clenches his fists into the sheets and curses a blue streak. Jeremy takes his cues from James, for once, and James will be damned if he won't give it his everything to make this last, make this bloody fantastic for them both.  
  
He doesn't want it to be the last time, after all.  
  
And then Richard's cock is finally free, straining up, hard and smooth and beautiful. James spares it a glance, of course he does, but the majority of his focus, surprisingly, stays on Jeremy. Jeremy, who licks his lips repeatedly, swallows hard and is very obviously entirely unable to take his eyes away.  
  
"Please”, Richard whines, rattling all over, “will you get on with it, please…” and James moves up, takes him into his arms, hugs him as close as he can, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead and trying ground him.  
  
"Shhh", he whispers, "slow down."  
  
And Richard does. With deep, gulping breaths he moderates his shaking into shivers and when he's down to just occasional tremors, James lets go of him, sweetly kisses him 'thank you' and moves back down to Jeremy, who's watching them, clearly fascinated and massively turned on himself.  
He has opened his jeans, just popped the button and drawn down the zip while James was occupied with Richard, and the obvious bulge in his pants strains against his flies.  
  
James kisses him, too, and is pleased to note that Jeremy is virtually drooling.  
  
He pulls away, makes sure he has Jeremy's full attention, then moves down and gently takes Richard's rock hard cock into his mouth.  
  
Richard moans, a high-pitched, almost desperate sound and thrashes his head, but other than that keeps mostly still and James is careful not to take things too far.  
He demonstrates medium depth and some mild tongue action before pulling off and giving Jeremy a challenging look.  
  
"You dirty _bastard_", Richard whines and James thinks it's rather ironic because he thinks actually Richard is the bastard here, the really rather dirty bastard, for connecting Jeremy's habitual joke of licking cars to an oral kink the size of a monster truck and _using_ it like this.  
  
And he’s certainly spot on because Jeremy looks like that time in Kiev, where they’d had that smorgasbord decked out on the body of a stripper for Porter's birthday, and he'd been at the same time genuinely fascinated and afraid to touch.  
But it’s Jeremy after all, and here, like there, it doesn't take him long to get over his trepidations and take advantage of the opportunity.  
  
He slides down until he lies alongside Richard's legs, leans over his already leaking cock, hesitates for a split second, and then takes him deep.  
  
Richard curses, and so does James, flinging an arm over Richard's hips, because he should have anticipated it, this _is_ Jeremy after all.  
But Richard keeps his lower body admiringly still, even without James' interference, and a second later it's Jeremy who's cursing, if through a lot of sputtering and some exaggerated choking noises.  
  
And James is kind of glad. It might help take Richard's mind off his most pressing problem for the moment. Give him a bit of a break. He’s too keyed up and James is afraid he won’t last long enough for Jeremy to really get into it.  
  
But Jeremy. Jeremy has other ideas.  
He hauls himself up and over Richard's legs, landing gracelessly in between them to a little yelp on Richard's part, and before either James or Richard have quite processed what's happening, he's back on it.  
  
Much slower now, almost tenderly, licking carefully first, just the tip of his tongue against the tip of Richard’s cock, but soon he’s growing bolder, lapping at the head and finally closing his lips around the top gently, experimentally sucking.  
  
Richard keeps still, although he is quivering again, if from the effort or from arousal James can't quite tell. James scoots up, gets one arm behind his shoulders and places the other firmly over Richard's abdomen to assist with the keeping-still-bit and Richard relaxes immediately, handing some of his control over to James, trusting him to make sure that he won't inadvertently spook or even hurt Jeremy.  
  
James kisses Richard's temple, leans his forehead against it and together they watch Jeremy.  
  
And what a marvellous sight he is.  
  
They both are.  
  
Jeremy is lost to the world, licking and sucking and tasting, a mixture of saliva and pre-come smeared over his chin and cheeks unheeded, zero percent skill but one hundred percent dedication.  
Richard slides lower with every lick and every tug, making keening beggy noises interlaced with expletive curses and half-sobbed repetitions of 'please' and 'yes please' and 'no please' and 'Jez please', shaking and shuddering and trying hard not to buck.  
  
"I've got you", James whispers and the feelings washing over him almost burst his heart.  
  
It's not even arousal... well of course it's arousal, he's painfully hard and ready to come whenever he lets himself, but it's still less of that and so much more of an overwhelming joy, and wonder, and affection, and pride and accomplishment, and yes, love.  
No fucking denying it. Not anymore.  
  
Jeremy pops off. Lifts his head and looks up at them, a little dazed but utterly contented, and Richard _whimpers_, a tiny, bereft, bitten-oft sound, and both, Jeremy’s look and the noise Richard makes, go straight to James' cock and he needs to blank out for a second or he might be the first to finish after all.  
  
Sight and sound return and he comes within a fraction of an inch to immediately losing them again at the sight of Jeremy smugly grinning up at a Richard and Richard himself all but dissolved into a quaking, shivering heap of pleading.  
  
“Are you sorry for hitting me?” Jeremy asks, and Christ, yes, right, that’s how this has started.  
  
“Yes, damn it, Jezza, yes! I’m sorry!”  
  
Jeremy smiles wolfishly, all satisfaction and complacency, then lowers himself down again, taking Richard deep and Richard _whines_, a high-pitched drawn-out puppy-dog sound and James says "Alright, I've got you" again and again and half-drapes himself over him, kissing the moan right out of his mouth and holding him tightly as he spasms.  
  
It takes a little while, a very long little while, until Richard goes still and James dares releasing him enough to chance a glance down at Jeremy, who... oh God, who's swallowed it all and is stuttering through his own release.  
  
Without ever having been touched by either of them.  
Without ever touching himself.  
  
James rolls away and pushes a hand down the front of his own jeans. He distantly registers Richard reaching for him, saying "Wait, James, no, no James, wait", but James ignores it, strokes quick and hard, and lets himself tip over the edge just as Richard says: "Oh, whoa, Jez, easy there!" and changes direction and James pulls himself out of the pit of pleasure and satisfaction he's fallen into as fast as he can because Jeremy has collapsed face first into the covers, trembling worse than Richard had before, and this can’t be good.   
  
Richard lies alongside Jeremy, ducking down, trying to see his face but fails, so instead he puts his hand between Jeremy's shoulder blades and pats, and it's like permission, it's like a feather has been uncoiled, a magnet has been activated, Jeremy unfolds, slams into Richard, hides his face against Richard's neck and _clings_.  
  
Richard reacts without missing a beat, folding him close and holding on tight, but the look he gives James over Jeremy's head is speaking of shock, panic and utter helplessness.  
  
James' still buzzing brain reluctantly informs him that this is very unusual, this is very un-Jeremy, that it is scaring Richard and he should probably do something.  
A something which apparently translates to him scooting down the bed himself, spooning up behind Jeremy, effectively trapping him between the two of them.  
As well as to him straining to lean over Jeremy, so he can kiss Richard in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion, before directing his full attention on Jeremy himself.  
  
And, oh, bugger, there is moisture on Jeremy's cheeks and his hands clench and unclench spasmodically, scrabbling for purchase on Richard's naked skin and the trembling hasn't subsided one bit.  
  
"Jez, are you alright?" Richard asks, and he sounds more than a little freaked out himself.  
James clutches one hand over Richard's arm, tucks the other into Jeremy's hair and feels more than sees him shake his head.  
  
"Jez..." Richard says, sounding genuinely scared now, and Jeremy shakes his head harder.  
  
"No!" It’s more than half a sob, brutally ripped out. “I don't know! What _was_ that??"  
  
James and Richard look at each other over his head again. There’s some kind of silent communication going on that James doesn’t quite get, but he nods anyway. He trusts Richard inherently.  
  
Richard pulls back ever so slightly, just enough so that he can nuzzle a kiss into Jeremy’s hair. “That”, he says soothingly, “that was bloody fantastic, is what it was. Wasn't it, James?"  
  
"Oh, hell yeah", James confirms with feeling and confidence.  
  
Richard dips his head again, trying to catch a glimpse of Jeremy's face, but Jeremy keeps it hidden, pressed into the crook of Richard's neck. "What happened? How did that happen? Why? Whatever _was_ that?” Shell-shocked, struggling for breath.  
  
"Did you like it?" James asks, carefully, carding his fingers through Jeremy’s hair.  
  
There is a pause, much, much longer than James would have liked. Because this is crucial. Because he is not sure, depending on the answer, if they can keep working together. Can keep being friends.  
But he doesn't press, locks eyes with Richard again, Richard, who looks just as forlorn as James feels, and waits.  
  
Finally, Jeremy nods.  
  
"Good", James says, into a heady rush of extreme relief. "That's alright, then."  
  
And Richard leans over and kisses him, slow and deep, before nuzzling his face into Jeremy's hair and James moves even closer, running his palm up and down Jeremy's bare shoulder and arm, up and down, up and down, and Jeremy might cry a bit, or maybe not, but he falls asleep between them, still clinging to Richard, cocooned between them, and after a while, before he starts to get too sleepy himself, James disentangles himself, makes himself get up and use the bathroom.  
  
But he returns to them immediately afterwards, climbs back into bed, switches position with Richard, carefully sliding into his place, transitioning limb after limb without ever waking Jeremy up, letting him cling on while Richard uses the bathroom and James falls slowly asleep.  
  
It's not something James has ever done.  
  
It feels unspeakably good.  
  


* * *

  
He wakes to Richard shaking him.  
  
"James, come on, wake up already, you overslept!"  
  
He opens bleary eyes to the sight of Richard standing fully dressed over him and the smell of coffee from the kitchen. "Huh?"  
  
"We’re supposed to be on our way, come on, man, Jeremy can only stall Andy for so long!"  
  
James glances at his watch and "Oh, bollocks, why didn't you wake me up earlier?!?"  
  
Richard jumps out of the way.  
  
"Well, we thought you were right behind us, mate!" he calls after James, who's already half in the shower. "You never sleep this long!"  
  
James makes it through his morning routine in record time, the other two waiting impatiently in the hall, Jeremy on the phone trying to placate Andy and Richard giggling madly and calling for James to hurry up every ten seconds.  
  
Jeremy presses a travel mug into James' hand as they tumble out of the house and into Richard's Landrover. It's coffee, sweet and black the way Jeremy likes it, but James doesn't mind.  
  
Today is a coffee kind of day. He needs something to ground himself.  
  
Richard and Jeremy squabble over the choice of radio station, Jeremy repeats yesterday's rant about Landrovers in London, three times over, and James sits in the backseat, sipping his coffee and trying to wrap his head back around reality.  
  
And the night is never mentioned again.  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit angsty, this one. Mentions of an accident. Not _the_ accident. A made-up one. Everyone is fine in the end.

James closes the portacabin door extra carefully. He will not resort to teenage antics.  
  
The good intention is immediately scrapped by the way he forcefully slams his script down on the table and sends the rubbish bin flying with a well-aimed kick.  
Well, bugger.  
  
He puts the kettle on in the little kitchenette and fumbles a teabag from his and Richard's secret stash.  
His fingers are trembling.  
He is _furious_.  
  
This is not him. He needs to get this under control. He needs to get himself under control.  
Grabbing the counter with both hands, he stares out at the track through the grubby little window.  
  
Bloody Jeremy.  
Goddamn bloody Jeremy Clarkson.  
  
Today, James May won't drive home in the Bentley Continental he has on test for the week.  
Because Jeremy fucking Clarkson has managed to total it on the track.  
  
James thinks of all the people telling him ‘no’.  
Because there's freaking _ice_ on the track.  
Because, what with all the snow, they still haven't cleared away all the debris lying around from last week’s filming.  
Because it's _James'_ car, _James'_ test car and James had said ‘no’.  
  
Even the Stig had shaken his head and tapped his visor.  
Because even the Stig wouldn’t drive today.  
  
James thinks of tyres squealing and metal screeching. Of the dull sound of impact.  
Followed by… nothing.  
  
He is _furious_.  
  
Of people shouting, cursing, running.  
  
He is _livid_.  
  
Of the sight of the Continental, buried under tyres where it had smashed right through the barrier, front crumpled against the concrete wall.  
  
He'd been _terrified_.  
  
Thinks of Jeremy bloody Clarkson, tumbling out of the car, a little shaken, granted, with a deep, bleeding gash on his forehead and some nasty bruises from the airbags, but essentially unharmed. Of fucking course.  
  
He'd been _sick_ with relief.  
  
And Jeremy goddamn Clarkson had laughed at them all and done a piece to camera.  
  
It's not helping.  
If anything, James' fingers are clenched even tighter around the edge of the counter than before.  
  
The kettle whistles.  
  
Jeremy is getting stitches and James is trying to calm down.  
Breathing slowly through his mouth.  
Which helps.  
Maybe.  
  
The door opens.  
James turns to the kettle before he can see who it is.  
Knows that it's Richard, anyway.  
  
"Go away", he says, pouring water into his mug, spilling much of it with shaking hands.  
  
Richard straightens the bin, collects the various bits of rubbish strewn across the floor and puts them back where they belong. Rubbish into the bin, bin under the table.  
  
"Go away", James repeats, but it sounds faint and unconvincing, even to his own ears.  
He takes a second mug off the rack, fills that with water, too, and dips another tea bag in. One of the disgusting common ones, though.  
  
He stands by the window again, listening to the sounds of Richard coming over to collect his tea, then retreating again. There are shuffling noises. A chair scrapes against the floor.  
He's sitting on the table again, with his feet on the chair. Why can't he just sit on the couch like a normal person?  
  
"Why can't you just sit on the couch like a normal person?" James snaps, turning around.  
  
Richard is silent, blowing into his tea, watching him from under his lashes.  
  
Something rearranges itself in James' brain. Clicks back into place.  
"Sorry, mate. Uncalled for."  
  
"No worries." Richard takes a sip from his drink, grimacing. "He's alright, you know. The lucky sod."  
  
"He crashed my car!" James shouts. "I don't care if he's alright!"  
  
The lie rings loud in his ears.  
  
"Okay", Richard says, calmly.  
  
James fishes the tea bag out of his mug and flings into the bin. He clenches his hand around the mug, letting the stinging heat ground him.  
  
Blows carefully into the dark liquid and takes a slow, steadying sip.  
Another.  
Which helps.  
Somewhat.  
  
"He could have killed himself", James eventually says, right into the loud bang of the door opening.  
  
Jeremy comes crashing through. White bandage on his forehead, skin red and raw and swollen, grinning like a lunatic. "That was _brilliant_", he booms. "Biggest crash on the TopGear track ever! And can you believe it, Iain has it on camera! All of it! I didn't even tell him to, he just rolled it, from start to, well, big bang!"  
  
Richard taps his heel against the table's leg.  
  
James' grinds his teeth.  
  
"Get out, Clarkson."  
  
"What, are you still sore about the car? They'll give you a new one!"  
  
"Get. The fuck. Out.”  
  
James would leave himself, but Jeremy stands in the doorway and there is no way James is passing that close to him. Not right now.  
  
"Christ, May, don't be such a woman. Your car got a bit dented, so what? It'll make for brilliant telly, get a grip."  
  
Things get a bit hazy in front of James' eyes at that. He honestly isn't sure whether the next thing he'll do is cry, faint, or punch.  
  
"You'd really better leave now", Richard says, quietly firm, and Jeremy turns on him.  
  
"What the fuck? You, too? I am the injured party here, I took one for the team, so why's _he_ all in a huff?"  
  
"Mate, just go, ok?" Richard pleads. "Go now. I'll catch you later, I promise."  
  
Jeremy, surprisingly, does.  
Not without a haughty sniff, not without another dig at James, not without slamming the door, but he does.  
  
The haze lifts. James can properly see again. And breathe. More importantly, breathe.  
He's sloshed tea all over his hands and down the front of his shirt.  
  
"Come on, mate, home." Richard hops off the table, takes the mug out of James' hand, slings an arm around his shoulders and steers him out of the portacabin.  
  
James lets him.  
  
Only remembers that the Continental is on its way to the scrap yard when Richard opens the door of his 911 for him.  
  
They both ignore Jeremy smoking at the track's edge, watching them.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They don't speak at all on the way to Hammersmith but James doesn't even pretend to protest when Richard follows him inside.  
  
He goes immediately for the kettle and Richard pulls out mugs and measures out tea without a word.  
  
And then they sit opposite one another at the breakfast counter, sipping tea, James internally rehearsing what he's going to say to Bentley. Of course Andy will handle it, and Jeremy will pay up without blinking, but they'd trusted James with the car so it's only right that he should ring them.  
  
He deliberately wrenches his thoughts away from sparkling eyes and a manic grin in a blood smeared face. Just the memory makes him shake with rage and sick to the stomach all over again.  
  
"Don't you have a date, tonight?" he asks Richard instead, because Richard started going out with Laura from research a couple of weeks ago and Wednesdays are their set nights.  
  
James had always known that this would happen, sooner or later. Of course it would. Richard would never be his, what a silly thought, even. Still, it had been a bit of a blow.  
Not really eased any by Clarkson, gleefully taking the piss out of Richard at every possible opportunity, rubbing it in James' face again and again and again.  
  
Richard shrugs. "Told her what happened, she gets it."  
  
James wonders how a girl from research who wasn't even there can 'get it' when he himself doesn't.  
  
"It's... uncomplicated", Richard adds, putting heavy emphasis on the word.  
  
James so isn't in any state to figure out what he means by that, so he doesn't even bother to try. His heart does a little extra flip, though, at the thought of Richard cancelling his date night to stay here with _him_.  
  
They finish their tea in silence and Richard gets up to refill their mugs. James nudges the bottom counter cabinet open with his toe, bends down and blindly gropes for the bottle of cheap whiskey he's stashed there for cooking purposes.  
Richard returns with their refilled mugs and James splashes a generous amount of liquor into each.  
  
"You know he's a moron", Richard says, and it's probably supposed to be reassuring. "Morons are like cats. Seven lives and all that."  
  
James concentrates on the biting warmth of the whiskey spreading in his stomach. It's so much preferable to the acid feeling of whatever it replaces.  
  
"He trashed my car", he says sullenly.  
  
"Yes. He's an idiot. But that's not the real issue here, is it?"  
  
James shakes his head.  
  
Richard sighs, reaches over with one hand and covers James' with his own. Squeezes and leaves it there.  
  
James thinks that he should maybe pull away, but he doesn't want to, not at all.  
  
By the time their mugs are half empty, James feels stable enough to acknowledge that: "... I may have freaked a bit."  
  
"Yeah", Richard says. No more. The hand stays where it is.  
  
By the time their mugs are just about empty, there is the sound of keys in the lock.  
  
James tenses.  
Richard exhales on a resigned huff.  
Tightly interlaces their fingers.  
  
The sounds of Jeremy grunting while taking off his shoes and coat in the hall are followed by hesitant footsteps which come to a halt in the doorway.  
  
Richard looks up.  
James keeps his eyes fixed on the counter.  
  
There is silence for the longest time.  
James concentrates on breathing, Richard's hand an anchor, keeping him from falling apart.  
He is not going to make a scene.  
  
"I'm... sorry?" Jeremy eventually ventures, and it sounds so much like a question, so uncertain, it almost makes James laugh. Almost, but not quite. He bites his lips, shakes his head.  
  
But he says "Come on in, Jezza", and he's surprised, as he says it, to note that the rage has completely dissipated, leaving nothing but bone-deep weariness.  
He still keeps his eyes on the counter, though. He isn't sure he's quite ready to face Jeremy, not yet.  
  
Jeremy approaches, slowly, until only a few feet separate him from James. "I'm sorry", he says again, sounding more sure.  
  
And Jeremy Clarkson apologising should probably be enough. It's a rare enough occurrence, after all.  
But not today.  
  
"What exactly is it that you’re sorry for?" James asks, finally looking up and yeah, no, it's too much, the bandage, the bruises, the way Jeremy favours his left side where he's probably cracked a few ribs.  
He locks his eyes firmly on his and Richard's joined hands, dimly wondering when hand-holding has become a thing he does.  
  
He is so distracted, he almost misses Jeremy's answer.  
  
"For getting you in hot water with Bentley, of course!"  
  
He wishes he had missed it. Or better yet, never asked.  
  
His eyes sting. The air is hot and heavy, hard to breathe. His fingers tighten around Richard's. The rage starts to seep back in.  
  
"Wrong answer, mate", Richard says quietly, squeezing back.  
  
A beat of silence. "For taking your car and crashing it?"  
  
James' knuckles have turned white. It must hurt Richard. He tries to loosen his grip. Can't.  
  
"Try again", Richard says, and it sounds dangerous. The 'last chance, get it right _now_'-kind of dangerous.  
  
The silence stretches into infinity. Breathing gets more difficult with every passing second.  
  
"For... scaring you?" Jeremy eventually whispers and it's insecure, and disbelieving, and even more of a question than that first sorry was.  
  
James takes his hand back from Richard and runs it over his face. Rubs it over his eyes, trying to make the stinging go away.  
  
Swivels on his stool, then, turns to Jeremy, half intending to shout, half on the verge of tears.  
He doesn't get to do either.  
  
He has no idea what it is that Jeremy sees in his face, but what James sees in Jeremy's can only be called shock.  
  
"Oh, May..." Jeremy breathes, and then he steps forward, right into James' personal space, and pulls him into a hug.  
  
And James doesn't know what to do, can't do anything but lean into it, wind his own arms around Jeremy and hold on tight.  
  
Jeremy grunts, probably because James squeezing like that hurts his ribs, but James doesn't let go, couldn't possibly let go, and anyway, it serves him right, the twat.  
And Jeremy does not complain, does not pull away, only clings tighter himself.  
  
Richard slides off his own stool and comes around to their side of the counter.  
  
"Not just May, you utter arse", he says, and they open up for him, let him in, completing their circle of three.  
The only thing that ever truly feels _right_.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
From there, it's only a very small step to nuzzling kisses and Jeremy murmuring "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", into Richard's hair and James' ear, over and over and over again, and James, for a little while, just lets himself cling. To both of them, but Jeremy, mostly, and when the shakes have subsided and he feels reasonably stable again, reasonably sure that they were lucky again and things are alright, he pulls Jeremy down into a very long, very deep kiss, carefully of course, mindful of tender skin and pulled muscles, but he kisses him until he starts to see stars, and then he pulls back and says: "You owe me one, Clarkson."  
  
Jeremy's laugh is a little unsteady, but his eyes twinkle. "What, a Bentley?"  
  
"Uh-uh", James shakes his head and kisses Richard, because he's right there, and leaning in, even.  
  
"Oh, but whatever could I do to make amends?" Jeremy asks theatrically, leaning down towards Richard himself. Richard rises on tiptoes to meet him.  
  
"There's a bed right behind you, I suppose we could think of something", James murmurs distractedly, lifting both hands to cup a cheek each, feeling their jaw muscles work. It's properly overwhelming.  
  
Jeremy pulls away from Richard, turns his head and presses a kiss to James' palm.  
  
"I'm injured", he says, token protest. "I'm an old man and injured."  
  
"I hate to tell you, mate, but that really is your own fault", Richard says earnestly, running a finger over the white bandage on Jeremy's forehead. "But it's all the more reason to take this to a bed."  
  
"Lead on, Macduff" Jeremy makes a grand gesture and Richard giggles, slipping past him into James' bedroom.  
  
Jeremy actually slaps his arse before following him in.  
James shakes his head. They are insane, all three of them.  
  
He couldn't care less.  
  
He follows them and watches Jeremy sit down on the bed very, very gingerly, bending down to take off his socks while visibly stifling a pained sound.  
  
"Oh leave it, you old ape, let me", Richard says and crouches down on the balls of his feet.  
  
He peels off Jeremy's socks, opens the button on his jeans, then rises up on his knees to work on the buttons of his shirt. He slides it off carefully, hissing in sympathy at the already bluish-red bruising down Jeremy's left side.  
  
"Airbag", Jeremy says, sheepishly.  
  
"Serves you right", Richard states, despite his earlier compassion.  
  
Jeremy reaches out a hand, twists it into Richard's hair. "I guess."  
  
James watches them, watches Richard discard of Jeremy's shirt, watches how he makes him scoot up and lie down, watches him peel off Jeremy's jeans, watches the bulge in Jeremy's underpants grow.  
  
"Richard", James says as Richard leans in for a kiss, nuzzling down Jeremy's neck and chest until he's gently tracing the edges of the bruise with his tongue. James can't deny he's getting ever more interested himself and will very soon be beyond caring. "Richard, what about Laura?"  
  
With a last gentle nip Richard straightens up, slides down the bed and comes over to James.  
  
"We rescheduled for Sunday. I told you. Uncomplicated."  
  
James isn't sure how much of an answer that is, wants him to clarify, but then Richard is kissing him, not hard and passionate, but so slow, so very sweet, and James' brain decides then and there that it doesn't have enough blood left in it to think of two things at once.  
Priorities.  
  
Richard breaks the kiss, holds James' gaze, then smiles a little wickedly and makes a grand gesture towards Jeremy. "Yours. I've prepared him for you. Go on, have your way with him."  
  
There’s some white noise as a synapses burns out at the words and James doesn't really know how it happens but he's out of most of his clothes and propped up on an elbow over Jeremy before he even knows it.  
  
Jeremy folds one arm over his hurt ribs and the other under his head and grins up at him, all swollen face and covered gash and abrased skin.  
  
"Sometimes I really hate you, Clarkson", James says earnestly and the grin slides off Jeremy's features.  
  
"I know", he says, and James struggles with all the different emotions warring for dominance inside him.  
  
"Sometimes I want to strangle the both of you", Richard says lightly, sliding into place on Jeremy's other side, stark naked. The man knows no shame. "Especially when you go on and on and on about war films."  
  
James does recognize it for the attempt at distraction that it is. Contrary to what they like to pretend, he is not completely dense.  
  
He gratefully takes it.  
  
"Sometimes I want to sit on your faces until you finally keep still, both of you", he says.  
  
Richard chuckles. "Sometimes I want to hit you to death with your hideous record collection", he counters. "Both of you."  
  
"Sometimes I want to throw you into one of those fires you're constantly causing, both of you."  
  
"Sometimes I wish you'd freeze to death on your bloody ridiculous motorcycles, the both of you", Jeremy chimes in, and James and Richard both fall about laughing.  
  
"Oooowwww", Jeremy complains, holding his ribs but joining in anyway.  
  
'Sometimes I love you, both of you', James doesn't say, but he buries his face in Jeremy's neck and Jeremy holds him close for a moment.  
  
"We good?" he asks gruffly when James can't quite make himself let go after a halfway appropriate amount of time.  
  
James huffs a laugh and nods his head against Jeremy's coarse chest. "You still owe me, though."  
  
"Mmmh, well, if that's the case, why not collect?" Jeremy asks, and in one fluid motion, flips them over.  
  
Well, maybe not quite so fluid if the wince and the “ouch” is taken into consideration, but he recovers quickly enough and James finds himself on the receiving end of some very enthusiastic tongue action and holy shit, no one has done that since Lajos.  
No one had ever done that _before _Lajos, either.  
  
James fists his fingers into the sheets, trying to somehow, some way, keep a grip on reality, and Jeremy nibbles and kisses and licks his way from James' neck, from the hollow behind his ear, over his chest, and his nipples, and his fucking _armpits_ to his bellybutton, and his hipbones, pulling down James' pants as he goes and then, of course, inevitably, reaches his cock and James lets out a groan, dimly aware that he's probably embarrassing himself, but Richard presses into him from his other side, saying things like “yeah” and “fuck” and “just like that” and even things like “beautiful” and “gorgeous” and James finds that, for once in his life, he doesn't much care.  
  
And then Richard has a hand buried in Jeremy's hair and his cock pushed right up against James' waist, the soft spot just under his ribs, thrusting lazily, muttering praise and encouragement and James allows himself to let go just a tiny bit, allows himself another moan, to arch his hips a little, to change the angle just so.  
And Jeremy responds.  
  
And he's still slobbering all over James' balls and upper thighs, and there are still far to many teeth involved and he still gags intermittently, but it's obvious how much he enjoys himself, how into this he is, and it's certainly the most fantastic blowjob James has ever had.  
  
By far.  
  
And so it’s no surprise, really, that it doesn't take long, certainly not long enough, until he feels the tingling in his lower back, the tell-tale sign of prickling warmth spreading from deep within him, turning his muscles to jelly, and it's very suddenly far, far too much.  
  
"Jezza", he pants, reaching down, pulling at him, and Jeremy looks up, eyes blown dark and wide in arousal. "Jez, don't forget Richard."  
  
And Richard whines next to him, honest-to-god whines, and that's all the encouragement Jeremy needs to shuffle up and smother Richard with a kiss that, oh god, must taste of James and not much of anything else, and Richard opens up and starts shaking in what James now recognises as a sure sign of anticipation, of him being mightily turned on, of him getting close, and he has to roll over, turn away from them both to keep from losing it entirely.  
  
He takes himself in hand, stalling for a second just to prove to himself that he can, then makes himself tip over within a few quick, practiced, strokes.  
  
He does allow himself to bask in it a bit, today. To let the world white out for just a few moments and, more importantly, to let it come back slowly.  
  
Sound returns first and he listens to Richard come in loud shuddering gasps mixed with expletive curses, listens to him saying “up, up here, come on” and James doesn't know what they are doing but seconds later there are the unmistakable sounds of Jeremy losing it, too, and he manages to recover enough to turn back around just in time to see him come hard over Richard's belly, in Richard's arms, mouth latched on Richard's nipple, both of them utterly undone.  
  
Jeremy jerks and shudders through it and Richard holds him, holds him tight until he collapses, bonelessly slumping onto Richards chest, crushing him almost, the big oaf, but Richard takes the weight and Jeremy is still suckling, making these tiny, desperate little noises that would make it impossible to push him away, anyway. Richard dislodges his mouth, infinitely gently, nudges his thumb into Jeremy's mouth and uses his other hand to card his fingers through Jeremy's hair, to stroke big circles over his back and shoulders, making shushing noises.  
  
And James loses himself in the sight, not sexy anymore but so beautiful nevertheless, so heartbreakingly caring he almost forgets it isn't real, and so he is wholly unprepared when Richard turns his head and pins him with his dark, intense gaze.  
  
"Why, James?" he asks, and James doesn't have an answer.  
  
"Why what?" he asks instead, playing dumb, and Richard sighs and extends his arm.  
  
James goes without hesitation and together they hold Jeremy for a bit longer.  
Because it’s just the third of these encounters and this they have already learned: he needs it.  
  
"You ok?" Richard whispers, when Jeremy seems to have calmed down somewhat. James shifts a bit so Jeremy is lying between them both rather than mostly on Richard.  
  
Jeremy shakes his head. "Mistake", he groans and James tenses.  
Not real, he reminds himself. Take what you can get, it's more than you ever hoped for.  
  
But then Jeremy hisses through his teeth and adds: "Everything _hurts_", and christ, of course, how could he have forgotten.  
  
"You numpty", James says affectionately, ruffling his hair. "You sad old man. Gone and completely broken yourself now, have you?"  
  
"Mmmh," Jeremy mumbles, vaguely affirmative. “So worth it.”  
  
Richard and James both laugh.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Richard is up at the crack of dawn.  
  
"Flying to Mexico today for the Mastretta review", he whispers when he notices that James is awake. "Need to get home, pack my shit."  
  
He gathers his clothes off the floor.  
The bedroom door snicks shut.  
  
"Bye", James breathes into the dark, because he knows how these things go.  
  
But not with Richard.  
  
Richard sneaks back in when he's done, freshly showered and ready to leave, kisses a still sleeping Jeremy on the temple which earns him nothing more than a bit of a grumble, and a very much awake James on the mouth. His hair is wet and he smells of coffee and James isn't quite sure if he isn't maybe dreaming.  
  
"See you Monday," Richard says quietly, and then the door snicks shut a second time and he really is gone.  
  
James knows he won't be able to fall back asleep, so he, too, kisses Jeremy one last time before the night is over, then gets up and pads into the kitchen.  
  
Richard has left fresh coffee on the heater and James eyes it, disproportionately moved by the small gesture.  
He briefly debates making tea anyway, but today is a coffee kind of day.  
  
He pours himself a mug, drinks it while scrolling through his twitter feed, then goes and takes a long shower.  
  
By the time he's done, Jeremy has made it into the kitchen, too, shaking pills out of a prescription bottle and downing them with coffee.  
The swelling in his remarkably discoloured face has, if possible, gone even worse.  
  
"How are you feeling?" James asks, pouring himself a second mug and topping up Jeremy's.  
  
"Death warmed over", Jeremy grunts. "And don't say it, I know it's all my own fault."  
  
James watches him trying to run a hand over his eyes without really touching his face, shrugs, and gets an ice-pack from the freezer.  
  
"Don't do anything like that ever again", he says, handing it over.  
  
Jeremy gratefully accepts it and presses it against his face. "I won't. I don't _actually_ have a death wish, May, I promise."  
  
"Good", James says. "I'd wondered."  
  
They sip their coffee in silence and then Jeremy says: "So, Laura? Do you think it'll last? You know, I actually rather like her!"  
  
And that's that.  
Back to business as usual.  
  
They talk about Richard, and Laura, and how nice it would be if something came of it piss-taking notwithstanding, and about Richard's shoot in Mexico and today's production meeting, and the postponing of Jeremy's Toyota 86 review, because no one should be exposed to that face on a TV screen.  
  
And then Jeremy drives James to his outsourced garage and James takes the Rolls, even though it's incredibly stupid to drive it in London and makes him almost an hour late for the meeting.  
  
The not entirely unintentional upside to that is that, by the time he finally arrives, Andy is just about done chewing Jeremy out and they can go straight to work.  
  
The night is never mentioned again.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas! And New Year's Eve! And James' Birthday!!  
Well, then. Merry Christmas everyone, I guess ;-)

James is always a bit wary of the holiday season.  
  
Oh, he likes Christmas, in principle, he really does.  
He likes the smells and the lights and the cookies. He even has a little tree with a few baubles and far too much tinsel draped all over it.  
But despite his extensive family of parents, and aunts, and uncles, and three siblings with spouses and partners and children, it's been a while since he's genuinely experienced the Christmas spirit.  
They all live their own lives, scattered across Britain, and the hypocrisy of coming together once a year for Christmas and putting up an act of happy family before going back to not talking for a year grates on his nerves.  
It's not what Christmas should be about. He'd actually much rather just get sloshed with Richard and sleep through the day, like he did last year.  
  
But this year Richard is treating Laura to a fancy spa resort on some tropical island or other.  
And Jeremy is always engaged somewhere anyway, always part of a crowd. This year it's in the South of France with the Wilman family.  
  
And, well, much of the same goes for New Year's, only that _that_ is even worse. Because obligations.  
  
And it doesn't stop there, because not long after that, it's his birthday.  
And he always feels like a bit of a loser when he spends that one alone with his Scalextric tracks or an Airfix model, no matter how much he might enjoy it. And this time, it’s made even worse by the fact that it will be his fiftieth.  
  
So that whole month, from mid-December until after his birthday, is always a bit of a bland affair for James.  
  
This year, he spends Christmas Eve alone in the studio, working on some long overdue Toy Story voice-overs. And he’s got no one to blame but himself, for always putting TopGear first. Jeremy and Andy really try to accommodate for solo projects, James knows it well enough, Richard has made use of it many times for his American daytime silliness.  
  
It's just that James hates to ask.  
Maybe he's still, after all these years, a little bit afraid to be a burden, to spoil the show. To annoy them.  
Maybe it's just that he prefers working on TopGear to pretty much anything else.  
  
By the time he's finally done with the audio recordings it's too late to drive out to the family gathering his sister is hosting.  
He'd arrive to all the kids already in bed and the adults well into the punch. It's no fun to crash into a party far too late and as the only one sober.  
That's the reason he gives himself and his mother, at least.  
  
On Christmas day the family goes ice skating, a thing James has never been either fond of or very good at, so he skips that, too, in favour of the Ducati engine lying in bits on his kitchen table.  
Declines even the invitation to join them for dinner, afterwards, because he knows everyone will be tired, the kids fussy and the adults cranky, and he's just better off with a hot toddy and the collected works of Philip Larkin.  
  
Unexpectedly, both Jeremy and Richard ring him on Christmas evening, and while Richard is noticeably eager to go back to the breakfast buffet and, of course, his girl, James is inordinately touched and very surprised by the gesture. Especially as Richard has taken time difference into account which, as a long-standing joke between them, they usually completely ignore.  
  
Even more surprisingly he shoots the bull with Jeremy for over an hour, switching between long-distance tandem smoking and long-distance tandem drinking several times, talking about everything while talking about nothing at all, and thoroughly enjoying it to boot.  
  
He has a dram or two of the good whisky and a bit of a wank after that and is really rather content with his day.  
It's been one of his nicer Christmases in the past couple of years.  
  
New Year's Eve is that blasted BBC party they always have to attend, by thinly-veiled-as-request order of the brass, to “show integrity, once a year at least”.  
Not even Andy could keep them off copious amounts of alcohol for that. Kudos to him for not even trying.  
  
Things do get a little bit out of hand and, waking up in his own bed on New Year's Day, James has no idea how the evening ended, let alone how he got home.  
Laura might have been involved.  
  
He finds his phone and is relieved to have Jeremy's ‘alive and home’-message already waiting for him, quickly sends his own and resolves to give Richard at least another two hours before he'll even start to worry.  
Richard, of the three of them, has always been most affected by hangovers and is probably still asleep.  
  
James on the other hand, much like Jeremy, hardly ever experiences anything more than a mild headache in the morning. He has the kind of lightning fast metabolism vital for their lifestyle.  
He often wonders how Richard even survives.  
  
He tinkers a bit with his various projects and when Richard's ‘alive and home’-message finally arrives just before noon, James realises how much he's been waiting for it, realises that he'd got nothing done all morning. The amount of relief that floods him at knowing that they are both safe is frankly shocking and also quite embarrassing.  
He deliberately avoids even looking at his phone for the rest of the day, dimly wondering who he's kidding. He got the information he was waiting for. Avoiding his phone _now_ is easy.  
  
Things get a bit frantic after that, what with everyone scrambling to finish their solo-segments before the start of the new series.  
  
And then, before he knows it, it's James' birthday.  
  
He gets a pencil with a ‘Happy Birthday’-post-it attached from Richard. Yes, he might have taken it a bit far, the moaning on Twitter about his Ferrari pencil getting blunt.  
Jeremy sharpies him a crown and a couple of balloons in addition to, of course, a moustache and big ears, on one of the promotional pictures hanging on the office walls.  
It's all very hilarious if you ask them.  
  
There's a rude card from Wilman and the cutest stuffed baby goat from Evie and then it's back to work.  
  
No one mentions it again until Richard sidles up to him while he's on the phone to Vauxhall.  
"Mate, what with the nightmare you call parking at yours, I'll leave my car here. You won't mind me hitching a ride with you, will you?" he asks, as soon James hangs up.  
  
"Saaame!" Jeremy calls from across the room and yeah, it's the first James knows of it.  
  
And of course they don't even consider the fact that he might have other plans.  
  
They know him, and he doesn't.  
  
The evening starts out in James' local, together with some of the crew, and while Jeremy firmly refuses to even touch a dart, he provides the most hilarious commentary to Richard and Porter getting trashed by James and Andy.  
But after that "and only because it's your birthday, don't you get used to it" he agrees to a game of pool and, considering the fact that he claims to never play, really gives James a run for his money.  
  
The crew bids off one by one and, after another round of beers and a rematch of pool which Jeremy wins solely because Richard decides to be utterly distracting, they decide to call it a night, too.  
  
It's just a short walk home.  
James is far from drunk but pleasantly buzzed and feeling slightly detached.  
It's part the beer, certainly.  
But to a far greater extent it's the fantastic evening and, well, the company.  
  
Richard is all hyped up, bouncing around them, balancing over little walls, hopping on and off the edge of the pavement, jumping over drains.  
Jeremy watches him fondly and smiles surreptitiously at James and James has to resolutely stifle the urge to reach out and take his hand.  
  
He bumps their shoulders together instead and smiles back.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It's Richard instigating, again.  
"Happy birthday", he proclaims, pressing James up against the wall in the hallway, full of confidence and with a certainty that is dizzying.  
  
"Not anymore, technically", James objects, rather feebly, when he gets his tongue back long enough to form the words.  
  
"Ooh, yes it is", Richard breathes. "All night it is."  
  
And the suggestive tone goes right to James' cock.  
  
"And here I thought I'd take it slow and seduce him with tea, first", Jeremy chuckles, leaning against the doorjamb to the kitchen.  
  
He pushes off and comes over to them, flicks Richard's ear. "You pikey. It's not what we agreed on."  
  
And that’s... wait... agreed on?  
  
"Well, look at him", Richard says petulantly. "All happy Spaniel. How could I resist?"  
  
"Mmmmh", Jeremy hums, studying James, who's suddenly glad he's leaning up against the wall. His knees may have just gone a little bit weak. "Point taken."  
  
He leans his head down and nibbles at James' earlobe.  
"I've made tea", he whispers, as if that were an offer no one should be able to resist.  
Oh, well. Coming from Jeremy, it pretty much is.  
  
"Well, what are we waiting for, then?" Richard asks, suppressing a laugh. He pulls away and saunters, yes, saunters the arse, into the kitchen.  
  
Jeremy grabs James by the hand and pulls him into the living room, sits him down on the couch, then disappears into the kitchen himself.  
  
They come back out a couple of minutes later with a tray holding the pot, proper porcelain cups and a little cake complete with candles.  
  
It's store-bought, of course, but James could cry.  
  
His birthdays so far, if the occasion was marked at all, have usually ended after a couple of beers at the pub.  
He doesn't remember the last time actual candles were involved. Not even at his mom's.  
  
Richard slides in beside him, the perceptive little git, winding an arm around James' shoulders and kissing him gently on the cheek.  
  
James has to tell himself very sternly off for even trying to read anything into it.  
Because Laura had spent most of the evening in Richard's lap before saying goodbye with a wink and a "Have fun, boys."  
And fun is what this is. He can’t forget that.  
  
Jeremy sits down in the armchair opposite, sets the cake in front of James and pours the tea.  
James blinks at the five flickering candles, thoroughly overwhelmed.  
  
"Make a wish!" Richard practically bounces on the cushion beside him.  
  
And it's childish and dumb and superstitious, but Richard nudges the cake closer to him and Jeremy watches intensely from across the table and so James obediently closes his eyes.  
  
There are so many things he should wish for. Health, or longevity of the show, for example.  
There are quite a couple of things he _could_ wish for, most of them not very safe for work.  
There is only one thing he really wants to wish for, only one thing he seriously, desperately, _wants_.  
'Let us always stay together', he thinks fervently. 'Let us be friends forever. Let them never leave me.'  
  
He swallows once, hard, opens his eyes and blows out the candles.  
  
They drink tea, and James cuts the cake, and soon there is mutual cake feeding followed by chocolaty kisses and the licking of sweet spots in more ways than one.  
  
Jeremy has joined them on the couch, moved up behind James, and his mouth is doing quite maddening things to James' neck while Richard is doing his best to smother him from the front.  
  
Before things can get too heated, though, Richard pulls back, stills James by taking his hands. Jeremy draws back, too, but keeps an arm around James’ waist, fingers splayed over his ribs.  
  
"Today should be about you", Richard says and Jeremy rests his forehead against James' hair. "If you want that. We want to make it all about you. All the way.” His gaze is intense, eyes big and dark. "If you let us."  
  
Jeremy nods against his hair and a shiver runs down James' spine at the thought that they have talked about this together, have planned this.  
  
"I..." James clears his throat. "I'm not good with giving up control", he admits.  
  
Jeremy snorts into his hair. "Understatement of the century", he mutters under his breath, but James ignores him.  
  
Looks into Richard's deep, earnest eyes, full of acceptance and understanding. Feels Jeremy's heart thud against his back and thinks about the risks _he_ took, how brave _he_ was to expose himself like he did over these past couple of encounters, trusting them to catch him, to know that part and not think less of him.  
  
James takes the plunge.  
He nods.  
  
Richard's smile is bright and beautiful and just for that it's worth it.  
  
Jeremy brings his other arm around, pulls James even closer against himself and squeezes him tight. And for that it's doubly worth it.  
  
And then Richard practically climbs into his lap, kissing him enthusiastically, pressing him back against Jeremy in a way that makes it absolutely obvious how enthusiastic Jeremy himself is about the whole affair and that, bloody hell, that makes it ten times worth it.  
  
"Playtime", Richard says with a wickedly mischievous grin, straining to reach over James' head and capture Jeremy's mouth.  
  
"Permission to do your worst", Jeremy says through a chuckle and the kiss and James wonders again just exactly how much they have talked about it, how much of this is pre-planned.  
  
And then Richard draws back and gets off the sofa and, in his best authoritative voice, says: "Take him to the bedroom and get him undressed, I'll be right there."  
And James thinks that might be part of his answer.  
  
And then Jeremy gets up, pulling James with him, says "Alright, Rich", and James very abruptly stops with the thinking so much.  
It's his birthday, after all. If ever not-thinking is allowed, it's today.  
  
Jeremy leads him into the bedroom, _herds_ him, more like, dims the lights and turns down the covers, before coming back to where James is standing in the middle of the room.  
  
"Happy birthday, May", he says, and then James is on the receiving end of the most uncharacteristically tender kiss he could never have imagined.  
  
"To many more", James gasps when he's finally released.  
And no, he doesn't mean the birthdays.  
  
"To many more", Jeremy repeats with a strangely wistful smile and then he starts on the buttons of James' shirt, slowly working them open one by one, bending down to gently nip at every bit of newly exposed skin.  
  
James consciously keeps himself from trying to help, very consciously, bit by bit, gives up control. And he is aware, he is very much aware of how big a sign of trust that is, coming from him, but trust them he does, implicitly, and he also trusts them to know it, both things, and not to misuse it.  
  
Richard is suddenly there, James hasn't even heard him come back in, pressing against him from behind, and together they undress him, slow and sweet and unhurried, layer by layer, touching and petting and feeling. And then he stands naked and Jeremy groans into his neck and says "Richard, I can't" and goes down on his knees.  
  
"Jez, don't", Richard says, when Jeremy nuzzles into James' pubic hairs, licks a stripe up his cock, gathers up the drop of precome at the tip, and James lets his head fall back against Richard's shoulder.  
  
"Get up, Jezza", Richard says, sharper this time, and with a quick parting lick of the head, Jeremy obeys.  
  
He kisses James and James can taste himself and it really shouldn't be sexy. And then Richard kisses Jeremy and maybe Richard, too, can still taste James, and that definitely _is_ sexy.  
  
"Clothes off", Richard says to Jeremy, as he walks James over to the bed, and oh, James has also missed the fact that he's already down to his boxers. "Permission to give us a show."  
  
"I'm not exactly show-material", Jeremy says, but he shrugs out of his shirt slower than strictly necessary.  
  
'You're _gorgeous_', James' brain provides, and he only just manages to bite down on the words.  
  
He lets himself be arranged on the bed by Richard, never taking his eyes off Jeremy, who shucks his undershirt and steps out of his jeans and pants and bends down to pull off his socks. It's probably intentional that he turns his back doing so, and James unashamedly ogles his arse.  
  
"What a birthday", James thinks and only realizes it was out loud when Richard laughs softly. Christ, his brain-mouth connection seems to be completely broken.  
  
"Come over here, Jezza, James wants to touch", Richard orders and James loves it so much. Loves that someone is in charge, loves how that someone is Richard.  
  
Richard pats the bed and Jeremy comes and James sees that it costs him, that he's self-conscious, being exposed like that, being the momentary centre of attention like that. And when he scoots up on the bed and Richard moves to James' other side, James drapes himself all over Jeremy, trailing reverent kisses down his body with special attention to the bald patch on his head and the saggy skin under his chin and the curve of his belly, telling him without words exactly just how few fucks he gives.  
  
Richard is touching James in turn, just as reverently, and just before it's all senses overload, Richard says "That's enough", and draws back.  
And James has half a second to think 'but why?’ before he's grabbed by Jeremy and flipped over, his head smacking against the headboard with a thump.  
  
"Ow", he complains, even though it doesn't really hurt.  
  
"Graceful, Jezza, very graceful", Richard comments dryly.  
  
"I'll have you know, I have a dicky hip", Jeremy deadpans, as if it has anything to do with anything.  
  
Richard giggles and it dissipates some of the sexual tension, for which James is grateful. He doesn't want this to move too fast.  
  
"Oh, the things I do...", Jeremy grumbles, dipping down for a quick scrape of teeth over one of James' nipples and James gives an exaggerated groan and then they are all laughing.  
And this, exactly this, is what makes it, what makes _them_, so very special.  
  
"Right", Richard says in his commanding voice, bringing them back to what they are actually doing. He cups the back of Jeremy's neck and pulls him into a very sloppy, very filthy kiss. "Put that big mouth of yours to some use and make him beg."  
  
Despite the things it does to his insides, it startles a laugh out of James. "I won't", he says, because he never has.  
  
"Oh, but you will", Richard says with absolute certainty, reeling Jeremy in for another kiss, much slower, much softer, much more tender.  
  
And judging from what the mere sight of it does to James, well, Richard might just be right.  
  
"Go on, do it", Richard says, releasing Jeremy with a last gentle tug at his lower lip, and the look Jeremy gives him, so full of adoration and sheer wonder, just about makes James melt.  
  
And then Jeremy does, get to it that is, and dear god, is he getting good at it.  
  
And Richard's tongue is in James' mouth and he's had a few beers but he still smells so good, tastes so good and yes, he's good at it, too.  
  
James distantly registers far-away whimpering sounds, and it's only after they have gone on for quite some time that he thinks he might actually be the one causing them, but he's entirely too preoccupied with trying not to lose it to actually care.  
  
And it's hands and tongue and teeth and it feels like not an inch of skin goes unexplored by Jeremy's enthusiastic mouth and James decides to give himself over to it, decides that if he ever does, it might just as well be on his birthday.  
With these two.  
  
And then Jeremy licks at the crease of his thigh and his nose nudges James’ balls and James, panting, breaks away from Richard, a gasping, involuntary "please" ripped from deep within him and Richard chuckles and James wheezes "bastards, both of you" and then Jeremy swallows him down.  
  
Richard wriggles further down the bed, reaches between them and jerks Jeremy hard, just once, twice, and Jeremy comes in hot spurts over James' leg and James would have followed him immediately if not for Richard's jarringly ordered "Stop!"  
  
James lies there, holding himself on the brink, clinging to the last thread of control, putting all these many times he's practiced to hold back to good use.  
  
Richard pulls Jeremy off him and James _whines_ and he doesn't fucking recognise himself.  
  
But then Richard practically deposits Jeremy on James' chest and James locks his arms around him almost on instinct because no matter how far he's gone, this is ingrained already, three times and it comes natural already, the knowledge that Jeremy will be overwhelmed, that Jeremy needs to be held, and so hold him James does, momentarily forgetting about himself, just holding a thoroughly shaken Jeremy in his arms.  
  
Richard crawls up beside them, shaking and quivering himself, and that's another thing, another thing James knows by now, that this is a sure sign of Richard being turned on, being massively aroused, and how insane is it that he knows these things about his co-presenters.  
  
Jeremy laps at James' skin where he's landed, entirely uncoordinated, and Richard pets his hair and nuzzles into James' neck and then he whispers "Let me fuck you? Please?" into James' ear and oh. Oh, bollocks.  
  
James' hips buck of their own volition and it should be answer enough but to Richard it isn't.  
"Would you? Let me?" he asks again and it's not... it's not something James does, did, not even for Lajos.  
Oh, he has, a couple of times, when he was very new to this gay-sex thing and thought there was no way around it. Bent over some car or other, in some dirty hangar or other, and he has never enjoyed it.  
  
"Yes", his mouth says. And then, to his utmost surprise it even adds: "Yes, please."  
Jeremy emerges, staring at him with an utterly dumbfounded expression while Richard presses into his side, rattling and shaking and James finds that yes, as a matter of fact, he wants, he truly, genuinely, very much wants.  
  
"Here, here", Richard mutters and he pushes at Jeremy until he's up against the headboard and then at James until he's leaning back against Jeremy's chest, and he pats at James with one hand while fumbling around on the bedside table with the other and comes back with lube and a condom and _of course_ he’s planned this. Of course.  
  
And then he leans in, pressing James heavily into Jeremy's chest, kissing him hard and wet and dirty, while one hand strays down, teasing at first, then gently pressing.  
  
And James welcomes the uncomfortable feeling, the invasiveness of it, it takes his mind off the blatant eroticism, keeps him from coming then and there.  
  
Jeremy kisses and bites and licks at his neck and shoulders, making disbelieving, encouraging noises and James thinks he might just lose his mind.  
  
And Richard looks at him, two fingers buried deep inside, tousled hair sticking every which way, absolutely beautiful, flushed and biting his lip and trembling in racking shudders, but he still manages to make eye contact and ask "Alright?"  
  
It's more than James can claim for himself, as words are obviously a thing of the past for him. He does manage to nod, though.  
  
"Not your first time?" Richard asks and James shakes his head.  
  
Richard seems to take this as permission, removes his fingers, pushes James' leg up, shoving him even further back into Jeremy who clings, clings so tightly, and then he presses in, so slowly, so gently, and yes it burns and yes it hurts and yes it's intense and yes it's filling, it's _fulfilling_, and so, so intimate and overwhelmingly wonderful.  
  
And James jerks a bit, towards Richard, not away from him, and makes a stupidly embarrassing keening, whining sound deep in his throat and Jeremy whispers things like “shhh” and “beautiful” and “gorgeous” and “so very lucky” and Richard moves so unbelievably slowly, bracing himself on trembling arms, alternately kissing James and Jeremy until something loosens in James, unfurls, and he pushes back, unashamed and wanting and Richard picks up pace and then Jeremy reaches around for James' cock and James lets go, lets go like he never has before and the world explodes in a kaleidoscope of colour before it ends up stark blinding white.  
  
When he comes back to his senses, sandwiched between the two loves of his life, he has no idea what has happened in between and for the first time ever, he doesn't much care.  
  
Jeremy's hand is in his hair, stroking and petting, brushing it into and out of his forehead alternately. "Wow", he says. "And also technically I can't breathe, but I'm not sure that I mind."  
  
Richard groans, but rolls off them.  
  
James tries to make himself do so, too, but Jeremy's grip tightens.  
"You can stay," he says. "It's your birthday."  
  
James relaxes back into the embrace, unspeakably glad. His muscles are pure jelly and even if he maybe could move, he most definitely doesn't want to.  
  
Richard snuggles up against them, kisses James' cheek. "Thank you", he whispers. "That was epic."  
  
James gropes for words and what comes out is: “’t was my first time, after all.”  
  
Richard tenses, goes stiff and very still. “You lied?”  
  
James shakes his head. “No. It's just... it’s just that it has never felt like this before."  
  
And before he's even quite finished the sentence he finds himself the centre of the tightest embrace he's ever been part of.  
  


* * *

  
  
They try to shower all at the same time, but James' shower cubicle is far too small for such a thing and they end up hopping in and out and wrestling each other for space and soap and hot water, swamping the whole bathroom and laughing like mad.  
  
Jeremy and Richard race each other back to bed afterwards, and James is left standing in the middle of the bathroom with a towel in his hand, looking at the mess and wondering how he’ll manage to mop up all that water. And then Richard calls for him and he can hear Jeremy laughing and he decides not to lose any more precious time with cleaning up tonight. Just leaves it all till morning.  
  


* * *

  
  
James startles awake to very loud, very colourful swearing.  
Richard stretches lazily next to him, turns over and kisses him on the mouth.  
  
“The big ape fell over", he sighs, before getting up and padding over to the bathroom. James very much enjoys the view.  
  
"Yo, still alive, you big oaf?" Richard calls, knocking on the closed bathroom door. James hears it open, then Jeremy comes hobbling into the bedroom in underpants and a t-shirt, grumbling about 'ancient houses' and 'danger to old men' and 'goddamn slippery floors' and Richard calls "Well, who's responsible for that?"  
  
"Shut up!" Jeremy shouts, looking for his jeans under the bed and Richard giggles.  
  
"Someone needs coffee, sweet and strong!" he quips, before the bathroom door closes behind him.  
  
Jeremy glares at James accusingly. "Where are my socks?"  
  
"Oh, alright, I'm on it", James says, sliding out of bed and slipping into a pair of jeans, commando. For a second he thinks Jeremy might be watching him out of the corner of his eye, but when James turns around, he is bent over a pile of clothing.  
James grabs a shirt and pulls it over his head on the way to the kitchen.  
  
He lets the kettle boil while the coffee runs through, but when the other two come down and Richard starts dealing out mugs and pours the coffee, he accepts his without second thought. The water in the kettle turns cold.  
  
But it's a coffee kind of day.  
  
And the night is never mentioned again.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He does find a pound, eventually, in his own wallet, and hands it over, then takes a step to the side and tucks the ring carefully back into its compartment in Jeremy's.  
He doesn't mention it.  
But the next time they go to Hammersmith after work, James pretends to search for something in the car's glove box and hands his keys over to Jeremy, telling him to go ahead.  
Jeremy unlocks the door.  
And hands back the keys with the most adorable soppy smile James has ever seen on him."  
(from the main story, [Rubbish-Ridiculous-Reasonable](https://https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979950))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, you thought the previous parts were fluffy? Then brace for this!  
Seriously. Shameless fluff, massive oral kink. :-)

James pretends to rummage through the glove box, pretends to look for who knows what, doesn't even remember what he gave as an excuse.  
His fingers tremble as he grapples with car documents, cigarette packages, American hard gums and sunglasses, all while surreptitiously watching Jeremy.  
  
Watching Jeremy, who has a key to James' house of course, but James thrust his own set into his hand, sending him ahead on the pretence that James needs to find... something.  
  
Watching Jeremy, who fumbles through the keys with one hand, trying to locate the correct one, while balancing his laptop and two bottles of rosé in the other.  
  
James can pinpoint the exact moment Jeremy's fingers brush the polished piece of metal, the smooth band that's been on James' key ring ever since the Warsaw Live Show.  
  
Jeremy freezes, freezes for a full ten seconds, then bends down to carefully set bottles and laptop on the ground. He straightens up, moves the keys so he can pick the ring out from between them and turns it in his fingers. Over and over and over.  
  
James watches, mesmerized. And then Jeremy whips around and James only just manages to duck his head, hiding his face behind his hair and the metal of the car door, before Jeremy's intense stare nails him to the spot.  
  
But he knows it's now or never. He has engineered this for a reason. He can't hide forever.  
  
This is not the time to be a coward.  
  
It would go too far _not_ to grab something from the glove box to make pretend, so he snatches a random bunch of papers and slowly walks up the steps to join Jeremy.  
  
Jeremy, who has unlocked the door in the meantime, and when James draws close he pointedly lifts the set of keys to remote-lock James' car, letting the ring dangle freely.  
  
James' resolve threatens to falter but he fixes his gaze to the ground and makes himself take the last few steps, one by one, until he comes to a stop next to Jeremy.  
  
A couple of deep breaths and then he looks up hesitantly.  
Ready to stand his ground.  
Ready to pull back.  
Honestly not ready for anything at all.  
  
Jeremy lets the keys hang from his middle finger for a second, clearly displaying the ring, then hands them back with the most adorably soppy smile James has ever seen on him.  
  
A matching one blooms on James' face, disbelieving and happy, until he suspects he just about outbeams Jeremy.  
He seriously couldn't care less.  
  
"May", Jeremy breathes, all hesitancy and wonder, and suddenly there is not a shred of doubt left in James' mind.  
  
He glances around for potential onlookers, grabs Jeremy by the hand and tugs him inside, picking up the laptop on the go.  
  
The bottles stay where they are.  
  
"May?" Once inside, Jeremy digs in his heels, refusing to be towed any further. "James, James do you... I mean is that how you...?"  
  
James disposes of laptop and keys on the sideboard and neatly changes direction. Pushing now, instead of pulling, crowding Jeremy up against the wall.  
  
"Yes", he laughs, and it comes out rather wetly. "Yes you daft sod, that's _exactly_ how I feel!"  
  
And then they are kissing and kissing and kissing.  
Kissing until James' knees are weak, kissing until his vision swims from the lack of oxygen, kissing until he can’t quite tell up from down.  
But Jeremy is holding him up and breathing is overrated anyway.  
  
It's Jeremy who eventually breaks away.  
Jeremy, clutching James to his chest, panting for breath, and James hides his face against his shoulder, breathing hard himself and feeling rather dizzy and laughing, laughing between hitched gulps of air.  
  
"You idiot", he mumbles into the leather of Jeremy's jacket. "You complete tosser. You stupid, stupid twat."  
  
Jeremy draws back slightly, lifts James' chin with his index finger and smiles, bright and affectionate, then kisses him again. Slow, and oh so very fondly.  
  
"Stop insulting me, May, or I might get the wrong idea after all."  
  
James surprises himself with a laugh, unadulteratedly happy. It's not a sound he is familiar with. He isn't quick to laugh and when he does, it's usually about something these two have said or done, not from simple joy.  
  
Jeremy _growls_.  
  
"I love you", James says, to make sure there is not the slightest bit of room for misunderstandings. "I love you, you muppet, how could you think I don't?"  
  
"How could I?" Jeremy murmurs into James' hair. "No one ever has."  
  
And before James has even processed it, the sadness of that statement, Jeremy is moving them down the hall and into James' bedroom.  
  
James looks around for Richard instinctively, is briefly derailed by the fact that he isn't there.  
  
Jeremy gathers him in, just holds him close for a second. "I know", he whispers. "I know it's not right. It's not enough."  
  
And James wonders if he really is that obvious, or if Jeremy is missing Richard just as keenly as he is.  
  
He breathes deeply, concentrates on the scent and feel of Jeremy, on the fact that it's _real_ after all, that for Jeremy it's more than just some fun. More than just a game.  
  
"It is", he says with conviction. "You are."  
  
The jacket goes and Jeremy topples them backwards on the bed, landing on top, and James laughs again, giddy like a teenager, and so does Jeremy and James could get drunk on the sound.  
  
"What do you want?" he asks, baring his neck to give Jeremy's nuzzling mouth better access.  
  
"Oh, you've worked out just fine what I want, the two of you", Jeremy says, biting gently down into James' levator scapulae and James _giggles_ at the fact that his brain provides medical terms in a situation like this and Jeremy snorts and does it again and god help them if that's how far they are gone.  
  
He threads his fingers into Jeremy's hair and makes him lift his head.  
"What do you _really_ want?" he asks.  
  
"You", Jeremy says, ducking down again, trying to get his nose under the collar of James' t-shirt.  
  
"Me? Or the both of us?" James asks and Jeremy lifts his head again, looks at James in confusion.  
  
"It doesn't matter, we can't have Richard", he finally says, slowly.  
  
"Yeah, well, I also didn't think I could have _you_", James murmurs, the wondrousness of the situation making him bold, hoping for even more.  
  
"Well, Richard has Laura and I like her", Jeremy says, matter-of-factly.  
  
And yeah, well, that's true. "Oh."  
  
"Yes, 'oh'." Jeremy sighs. "You _are_ aware you're killing the mood, May, aren't you?"  
  
James reaches up and runs a hand through Jeremy's thinning curls. "It's just weird", he mutters.  
  
Jeremy answering smile is equal parts amused and affectionate.  
  
"It is", he agrees. "But if we could maybe get past that and focus on the point where I'm about to throw my natural inclinations into the wind and have hot but loving gay sex with you?"  
  
And yes, that's Jeremy. That's why James loves the man.  
  
He manages not to dwell too much on the 'loving' in that sentence, still not quite trusting the implications, pulls Jeremy down by his hair instead, kissing him fiercely in an attempt to distract him from the fact that he is reversing their positions. It works, and now James is on top and straddling Jeremy. He breaks the kiss just long enough to get rid of both their t-shirts.  
  
Jeremy runs his hand over James' hip and up his flank, over his pectorals, pinches a nipple and leaves his fingers there.  
  
"You're gorgeous", he breathes, and James would blush if he had any blood to spare for his face.  
  
"What do you want out of this?" James asks.  
  
"I'm quite happy with nibbling you", Jeremy grins smugly.  
  
"Be serious, Jezza", James begs, because this is. So very, very serious.  
  
Jeremy groans. "What did I tell you about killing the mood, May, huh? Christ, you've never been a talker."  
  
James pulls back, annoyance bubbling up, quickly replaced by disappointment.  
But before he can quite get away, Jeremy's hand closes around his upper arm, holding him in place.  
  
"Oh, alright then", he says with an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh and scoots up to sit against the headboard, pulling James more or less into his lap and that's... uhm...  
Okay, he'll go with it. Just the once.  
  
Jeremy pulls him back against his chest, hugs him from behind and buries his face in James' hair, breathing deeply for several long seconds.  
  
"I won't make any promises", he says at last, his voice quiet but steady. "You have to understand. It's all a bit... frightening. I've never... and it's all..." he breaks off, clearly frustrated by his unusual lack of eloquence. James waits him out.  
"If I were just a slightly braver man", Jeremy finally says, almost tripping over the words, "I'd wear that ring openly. And I wish I were. And that's all."  
  
James turns around, brings their foreheads together and holds on tight.  
"I love you, Jez", he says, because it needs to be said.  
Because it's the most stunning thing in the world to be allowed to say it.  
Because it's true.  
  
Jeremy huffs a laugh. "Yeah, that is _very_ frightening", he mumbles, but he hugs right back and then it's more kissing and some more taking off of clothes and slow caresses until James shoves his hand into Jeremy's pants and grips his erection and Jeremy groans and James murmurs "You alright with the mood, now?" into his ear and then they are both laughing.  
  
"Richard would be surprised", Jeremy chuckles. "Not sure he would even believe it. Us two old men getting it on without him!”  
  
“And getting it up, at that", James smiles. He dips down for another quick kiss, teasing with a hint of teeth. “Not that I ever thought that would be much of a problem. I do have a few tricks.”  
An image of Jeremy leaning over him, languidly fucking him into the mattress, comes to his mind unbidden. He groans, as much from the vision of it as from frustration. How does the mere idea turn him on so much?  
  
"Do you want to try something new today?"  
  
The tension is as heavy as it is immediate.  
  
"I..." Jeremy falters.  
  
James mentally backpedals so fast he gives himself whiplash.  
  
"Sorry Jez", he slides off to lie beside him, trying to give him space.  
Give _himself_ space, more like.  
  
"I, ah, I didn't want to push, I..."  
  
Gentle fingertips on his lips stop the stammering.  
  
"We wouldn't be here without some pushing from the two of you, so shush that thought right there."  
  
Jeremy takes his hand away and rubs it over his own face. Leans his head back and leaves the hand there, covering his eyes.  
  
"Thing is... " he says, pausing before going on in a rush. "Thing is, and I know it's weird and kind of gross and you'll mock me forever, but thing is, I don't want to do anything else, not yet at least, I have never _felt_ like this before and it's... scary and embarrassing and a bit yucky but also the most intense... "  
  
"Jezza!" it's James' third attempt at stopping him and this time he grabs his shoulder, too, and that finally does it.  
  
Jeremy takes the hand away from his eyes. He has blushed bright red but he holds James' gaze defiantly. With an obvious effort, but hold it he does, and James finds he has no words for this man, for this brave man who lets himself be so vulnerable with them and them alone.  
  
He leans in and kisses him some more, pours all the feelings that have his heart close to bursting right into it.  
  
"It's not. Gross or embarrassing", he says, when he feels like he might be able to speak again. "And we never would, not for that", he adds, including Richard because Richard deserves to be included.  
  
He twists his hand into Jeremy's curls, tugging him down so he can kiss his forehead.  
  
"Thank you for letting us give you what you need", he breathes against Jeremy's sweaty skin. "It's..." 'humbling', he wants to say, but he doesn't, because it would be too soppy. Not that it would make much of a difference at this point, but there still are certain standards to be upheld, as feeble and unconvincing as they may be.  
  
Jeremy slides back down to lie on his side, wraps his arms around James and holds on tight. "And that goes both ways, James", he says earnestly and James shivers, knowing he has been caught out.  
  
"I'll try", he whispers with as much sincerity as he can muster.  
  
"Good enough", Jeremy decides. "What about the hot but loving gay sex-thing, then? Can we get on with that?"  
  
James laughs and then almost chokes on Jeremy's tongue deep in his mouth.  
  
"This", Jeremy grins lewdly, when he pulls back. "This at least is something I've always known I like."  
  
"Keep going, then", James croaks and it's not as if Jeremy needs to be told twice.  
  
He dives his tongue back in and James relaxes his jaw, takes it, lets him explore to his heart's delight while simultaneously shutting down his brain little by little, letting go of his control shred by shred, until he's sighing into Jeremy's mouth, whimpering almost, twisting into his touch.  
  
And then Jeremy moves on, scratching his teeth along James' jawline, bites down on his earlobe, licks the sweat from the hollow behind it. And James hasn't even noticed he's sweating but now Jeremy chases the drops into his hairline with his tongue, lapping them up one by one. It's obscenely erotic in a weird but pleasant way and when Jeremy sighs "You taste so good, christ, James, to be allowed...” James finally gives into it and just enjoys.  
  
Because enjoyable it is, bloody fucking hell.  
  
Jeremy takes it slow, much more so than last time.  
Slides off James' pants, then his own, fitting skin against skin, and James censors himself, insofar as he doesn't let himself plead, doesn't let himself beg to speed things up.  
Half because he wants to give Jeremy more time. All the time he wants.  
Three quarters because he knows pay-off will be worth it for himself.  
Doubly so. Triply.  
  
He doesn't censor anything else about his responses, though, he moans and arcs and writhes and it's _liberating_.  
  
Jeremy chuckles into his skin, peppers it with kisses, working his way down in sweeps of tongue and scrapes of teeth, all the way down to James' _ankles_, never touching his cock, not with mouth nor fingers, and James still kind of loses the ability to think.  
  
He gets it back, luckily, when Jeremy comes back up for more kisses, and just in time to stop him from going down on him in earnest.  
  
"I want..." James pants, swallows.  
  
"Hm?" Jeremy prompts, nuzzling into James' neck, sucking at skin with an intensity just shy of leaving a mark. Hopefully.  
  
"I..." he has never done that. He has never asked for anything during sex before. Never. James' ultimate goal is to please his partners, that's what he takes his own pleasure from. He himself will take what he can get on the way, and it’s always satisfying, always enough.  
Isn’t it?  
  
Jeremy emerges from his quest at vampire impersonation and props himself up on his elbows so he can look James in the eyes. He is very close, gaze earnest.  
  
"James. Tell me. Nothing can be as embarrassing as what _I_ am doing."  
  
"It's not..."  
  
"James."  
  
James blinks. Gulps. Takes a breath. "Iwanttosuckyouoffwhileyousuckmeoff."  
The words run into each other, he's not even sure if it's possible to make sense of them.  
  
Jeremy stares at him for a second, then completely deflates on the rush of an exhale, collapsing face-down onto James' chest, lying still.  
  
"Or not", James says, patting Jeremy's head, running a hand through his curls, more embarrassed than disappointed.  
  
Jeremy shakes his head. James can feel him trembling. "If we do that..." he starts. Stops.  
Then, muffled into James' chest, somewhere in the vicinity of James' heart: "We can do that, James. But… I will completely lose it. You need to be aware of that, because I sure as hell won't be and I have no idea how it will end."  
  
The amount of love rushing James' heart is utterly ridiculous.  
"We don't have to", he whispers, carding his hand through Jeremy's curls.  
  
"I want to, I do. But it’ll be… and I need you to catch me." It's almost indistinguishable.  
  
"I've got you", James says, kissing the top of Jeremy's head where he can reach without dislodging him. "I've got you, Jez, always."  
  
They hold onto each other for a bit longer, just lie there and cling, and then James slowly starts working on getting the mood back up.  
Not that it needs much, just the anticipation has them back to fully hard within minutes.  
  
It's James who takes the lead this time, languid and careful, kissing and touching until they are both breathing hard and the tension has bled out of Jeremy and he goes willingly where James wants him, lets himself be arranged on the bed just so, laid out and ready.   
  
James can't get enough of the kisses and he indulges shamelessly, until Jeremy is writhing under him, panting curses and endearments alike in incoherent half-words and it takes a while for James to take mercy on him, to let up, and even longer for Jeremy to get his bearings, to whisper "oh, god, James", on a very shaky exhale followed by a slightly hysterical laugh and James hugs him and whispers "shhh, I've got you" once more before he turns around, shimmies his way along Jeremy's body until he is perfectly aligned, upside down, breathing in the heady, musky scent of Jeremy's arousal and only just keeping himself from ending it then and there.  
  
Jeremy is making tiny, needy noises, digging fingertips into James's skin with a force that is sure to leave marks and James nudges his hips gently forward, giving permission where none is needed, closing his own lips over Jeremy's erection, and with a desperate little sound that is more a sob than anything else, Jeremy follows suit.  
  
James knows he won't last long, is grateful for the fact that Jeremy's motions are uncoordinated and jerky because if he's lucky, that might draw it out just a tiny bit longer.  
  
He won't control it too much, he will not pull away to prolong it, but he can feel the pressure already building in the small of his back and Jeremy is into this, god, he's so into this, the noises he's making are pure porn, and James wants to give him a little longer, give him a little more time, just a little bit.  
He concentrates on his own objective, tries to disconnect just a little, summon memories of finesse and skills and apply them and it helps a bit, the need for multi-tasking, the divide of focus but then Jeremy gasps around James' cock, a choked sound that might have been James' name, and the rush is on him, unstoppable, and Jeremy sucks and swallows and sucks him dry and a moment later he's coming himself in hot, endless spurts and James has to pull off because it's too much and he can't possibly take it all, and there are more important things to do anyway.  
  
He turns around and gathers Jeremy up, shuddering and gasping as he is, pulls him on top of himself, holding him close and, as he has learned from Richard, pushes his thumb into Jeremy's mouth.  
Only then does he allow himself to relax, to bask in the sensations washing over him in waves.  
He allows himself to white out a bit, _again_, and what is it with these two that he keeps doing that, _can_ do that. Feels safe enough to do that. It’s too enormous to even contemplate.   
  
When the world rushes back in he becomes aware of the fact that Jeremy's face is wet and he's still heaving in big, sobbing breathes.  
  
James rolls them so they are lying on their sides, keeping him close and making soothing nonsense noises until the shaking subsides somewhat and Jeremy’s breathing becomes more regular. He doesn't take his thumb back, though, not until Jeremy turns his head away by himself with a self-depreciating huff, hiding his face between pillows and James' chest. "Sorry", he mumbles. "So embarrassing."  
  
James kisses the balding spot on the back of his head. "It's not. It's amazing and you're beautiful."  
  
"Oh, James", Jeremy sighs. "You sad, delusional old man."  
  
But he settles back against James, running his hands through James' hair and down his back, kissing him deeply and James loves the way the taste of Jeremy mingles with his own on his tongue and if he weren't in fact such a sad old man, he would be halfway ready again by the time Jeremy pulls back.  
  
As it is, they stay wrapped up in each other, doing what can only be called cuddling for the longest time, lazily kissing and stroking and coming down from the incredible high, heartbeats slowing and breathing steadying until James feels like he might fall asleep any minute and he has to get up and take a shower before that happens.  
  
Jeremy laughs at him but gets up to do the same after James is done.  
  
James briefly debates changing the sheets, considering the impressive mess Jeremy has made, but to his own surprise finds that he doesn't really care and just throws a towel over the damp patch.  
  
Jeremy slips back into bed, damp and mellow, leaving the customary couple of inches of space between them, exactly the way James likes it.  
  
James appreciates it, but today it's wholly unnecessary.  
  
"I miss Richard", he admits into the darkness, and then he rolls over and burrows into Jeremy's chest.  
  
He can tell Jeremy is surprised by the way he stiffens momentarily, but he recovers quickly, winding his arms around James and squeezing tightly.  
  
"Me too", he whispers into James' hair. "But we'll make do. Having _you_ is more than enough."  
  
And yes, James knows he doesn't have anything to complain about. Falling asleep in Jeremy's arms is something he may have dreamed of but not something he would have ever imagined coming true. Ever.  
  
Still.  
It just doesn't feel quite right.

* * *

  
Jeremy wakes James up gently with butterfly kisses and a steaming mug of coffee. James briefly wonders when the last time was that he slept so soundly and then realises that it happens every time he shares a bed with these two.  
Or even just one of them, apparently.  
  
He smiles lazily, scoots up against the headboard and accepts the mug. Squinting sleepily he wonders whether it has the Clarkson amount of sugar in it, and Jeremy completely misinterprets the situation.  
  
"I'm not Hammond, mate. I won't bother with your fancy loose-leaf stuff. If you want tea, buy bags."  
  
The implications of that are simply too much to take in this early in the morning.  
James stares, baffled.  
  
"Nah", he says slowly. "Coffee kind of day." They are filming, later, after all.  
With Richard.  
  
Which does, in fact, turn out to be a little bit weird. And even weirder when Jeremy decides to lick the new Mercedes Black Series.  
  
But they manage.  
  
And they never mention the night to Richard.  
  
  



	6. Plus One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Five Times They Didn't Talk About It - _And The One Time They Did._

The new series is about to start and as usual they are running late with just about everything.  
  
They are gruelling, the weeks preceding the first studio filming, the weeks following that first staggering night James and Jeremy spent as… well, as what, exactly? As a couple?  
Can it be called that if there is no repeat, if there are no arrangements, no agreements, no big declarations? Nothing at all to mark the occasion, mark the change?  
If they don't treat each other any differently, if they take the piss like they used to, blunt and relentless as ever?  
Not that James wants that to change. Not at all.  
It's just that it makes things feel kind of unreal.  
  
It might of course, that feeling of 'unreal', have something to do with the fact that they all three are hopping between various continents in various constellations, finishing up the last of the VT-segments for the new series.  
With the result that their limited time in London is spent in a flurry of voice overs, plugs, last-minute research, and script writing.  
  
Jeremy has turned into an insomniac, getting through the day on nothing but coffee, Red Bull and cigarettes.  
And through the nights on wine and Twitter.  
  
He is hugely annoying to work with when he gets like this, supremely pedantic and nit-picky. His brain to mouth filter, loose-knit at the best of times, all but ceases to exist in the weeks leading up to filming and he picks fights with everyone. Especially Richard Porter.  
And James.  
  
But it's what the show needs and everyone knows it.  
It's what lifts TopGear from an average car show to being the most-watched motoring programme in the world.  
What turns it into something people all over the world love and, more importantly, into something _they_ love.  
The most brilliant ideas emerge in this phase, the best lines. Genius last-minute changes that have everyone scrambling to keep on top of things.  
It's worth putting up with, and it will pass. As soon as they start studio filming, it will quiet down considerably.  
They know. They have been through it nineteen times already. Well, eighteen, in James’ case.  
  
Of course James debates inviting himself over to Jeremy's. Is very tempted to. But he never acts on it.  
He tells himself it's because of their wildly varying schedules.  
Because he doesn't want to mess with Jeremy's creative process.  
  
And not at all, not in the least, because keeping it from Richard feels like cheating.  
  
And there are moments, sparsely sprinkled in between the madness, that remind James of the fact that yes, it actually is real. It must be real. It's not just a figment of his imagination. There is a whisper of promises, an assurance of more to come.  
Once the insanity is over.  
  
Filming in Croatia, just the two of them, Jeremy, over-caffeinated and over-nicotined, tiptoes through the connecting door at three in the morning to slip under the covers with James without a word.  
And, miraculously, they both sleep.  
  
Lying on the couch in the portacabin one day, with the lights turned off because of a mighty headache, Jeremy wordlessly crouches down beside James, covering his eyes and forehead with a soothingly cool palm while carding his other hand through James' hair in a calming, repetitive caress.  
Just so. Just perfectly so.  
  
A cup of tea, shoved into James' hands from out of nowhere. And realizing Jeremy knows exactly where he and Richard hide the good stuff.  
  
Ambling into a meeting late and getting blindsided by a relieved, affectionate smile, bright and warm like the morning sun and quickly hidden behind a pen tapping against lips.  
  
And sometimes James makes sure Jeremy knows, too. Doesn't forget. That it's real. That there is more to come.  
  
Drags him away from everything and out into the sunshine for a couple of minutes, force-feeding him a sandwich washed down with a can of some fizzy drink or other and a good amount of kissing.  
  
The straightening of a shirt, the brush of fingers against an elbow.  
  
And, on one particularly bad day, bundling him off into a props room, blocking the door and letting Jeremy suck him off.  
  
Richard, meanwhile, is even busier than they are. He constantly flies back and forth between London and L.A., trying to finish his delayed Crash Course-series while simultaneously keeping TopGear on schedule.  
  
He watches them when they are together, though, James can't help but notice. Stopping what he's doing to observe them from afar. Furtive glances from across the room.  
No doubt has he picked up on the shift in dynamics.  
James firmly resolves to sit him down for a couple of pints and a bit of a talk as soon as the madness lets up.  
  
With or without Jeremy's help.  
  
Richard deserves as much.

* * *

  
  
The first studio recording of the series.  
The first news segment of the series.  
Each in their customary seat, Richard next to James, Jeremy opposite.  
And James is slowly but surely developing a nervous tic in his right eyelid in response to Richard’s constant ring-fiddling.  
  
He does that a lot, Richard, the fiddling.  
It might mean that he is nervous, just as well as it might mean that he is completely at ease. Hard to say without picking up on subtle additional clues, a thing James isn't very good at, even at the best of times. And, right now, he is far too distracted to even want to try to figure it out.  
  
That fiddling, it drives James up the wall and round the bend. Veritably.  
  
Which isn't usually a reason for Richard to stop something, no. Quite the contrary indeed. He likes to be an annoying little git, especially on screen.  
But they've found it messes with James' ability to concentrate, which makes for slower comebacks, the missing of cues and an unnecessary amount of retakes. And no one wants that.  
So, normally, it takes nothing more than a stern look from James to make Richard stop. During recordings, at least.  
  
Today though, today it's excessive.  
The warning glare has been employed several times already, always short-term effective, never lasting.  
  
Jeremy is in the middle of a rant, one of the kind even _he_ needs a good amount of concentration for if he wants to cover all of his points.  
And it's going to be James' turn next, but his eyelid twitches and so do his fingers and Richard just _will not_ look at him and it's a matter of seconds now until James can't take it anymore, until he snaps at him, or reaches over maybe and rips that ring right off his finger.  
Either way it will completely ruin the take.  
  
Richard shifts slightly then, and James catches a glimpse of the ring, the one he's fiddling with.  
And it's very fortunate the cameras are focused on Jeremy because, for a second there, James might have just completely lost composure.  
  
He feels his features go literally slack.  
Stares.  
Luckily catches himself just before it becomes too obvious and settles his eyes on Jeremy instead, just trying to keep breathing.  
Trying to listen to what Jeremy is saying.  
Because he'll have to interject soon. The exact moment Jeremy mentions the Alfa he'll have to jump in.  
  
He's not sure he can. Jeremy will be annoyed. Andy will be furious. These rants are always best the first time round. Never ever work as well in a re-take.  
  
Richard finally glances over, finally, finally realises something's amiss. He frowns in confusion before he notices what he's doing. But then he smiles, somewhat guiltily, somewhat amused, and quickly takes his hand away.  
  
And Jeremy stumbles. Stumbles over his words, stumbles to a split second's halt before catching himself, saving himself with an unscripted quip, a little dig about Hamsters and shiny things, a line that James only half registers but luckily Richard picks it up, seamlessly picks it up and runs with it, and then he and Jeremy go back and forth, teasing and trading insults until James has caught up and manages to deliver a line of his own. Out of nowhere, completely on autopilot, he doesn't even know what it is.  
But everybody laughs, Jeremy most of all. And the crisis is averted.  
They don't even need a re-take.  
  
They make it through the rest of the show in what is probably the most awkward atmosphere they've ever recorded in.  
James' eyes keep being drawn to the ring while Jeremy is very obviously (not to the studio audience, hopefully) trying to avoid looking at it.  
  
Richard makes a move to slip it off during one of the film segments when the cameras aren't on them, but Jeremy stops him with a hiss and a concealed gesture.  
  
Fans these days, they notice everything.

* * *

  
  
They withdraw to the portacabin after studio filming, usually.  
A quick ten-minute break for tea, bathroom, and getting rid of technical equipment before they dive back into the crowd for some small talk and autograph signing.  
  
Today though, the second they are inside what they call their presenters’ room, Jeremy has Richard by the collar and slammed up against the wall, pulling himself up to full height, towering over him. "What the fuck are you playing at, Richard?"  
  
"Uh..." says Kiff, who's followed them in to collect his audio equipment.  
  
"Out", Jeremy snarls menacingly, not looking away from Richard who stares back in wide-eyed surprise.  
  
Kiff shuffles from foot to foot, undecided, but then his eyes land on James and he obviously resolves that's enough sanity in the room. "Ah, well, uh, try not to kill each other, alright?" he mumbles, hastily retreating. The door falls shut behind him.  
  
"Jez", James says, but Jeremy doesn't react, doesn't loosen his grip on Richard.  
  
"I said _'What the fuck are you playing at?_'", he repeats, harsh emphasis on every single word.  
  
"Jezza", James says again, bringing his hand up and running it over Jeremy's arm repeatedly, exerting gentle pressure, trying to push him away from Richard, because he doesn't like this.  
He so doesn't like this.  
Jeremy does not usually use his height to intimidate people, least of all Richard.  
No, James not liking it doesn't even remotely cover it.  
  
“Jezza. Remember. Walls. Ears.”  
  
Jeremy finally takes the hint, lets go and steps back, and James doesn't even realise he's left his hand where it was, rubbing soothing circles into Jeremy's upper arm, until he catches Richard staring at it.  
  
He drops his hand as if burned.  
  
"You two..." Richard breathes.  
  
"Just the once!" James hears himself say. Hurriedly. Defensively.  
  
And how have they gone from Richard throwing them off balance with wearing that damned ring, from Jeremy being so mad at him, to James justifying a relationship he still isn't quite sure he has?  
  
_Defending_ said relationship to someone he has no business defending it to?  
  
Richard looks crushed. He smiles but he looks crushed, and his words are the exact opposite of what's on his face.  
  
"Woah, chaps, congratulations! That's awesome!"  
  
James' mind is reeling. Utterly failing at keeping up.  
  
"Why are you wearing that ring, Richard?" Jeremy asks and he sounds kind of dangerous.  
  
"I like it, it's nice", Richard says and James has this feeling that there is more, and that Jeremy is about to ask, but at this very moment Andy comes crashing through the door. He skids to a stop, looking from one to the other. "Oh, good", he pants. "Everyone's still breathing. My sound man told me there might be some strangling going on."  
  
Jeremy smiles, and even James can tell how fake it is. "It's alright. Just a little misunderstanding."  
  
"Well, get your arses out of here and into the audience then", Andy orders and Richard asks: "What misunderstanding?" He looks at James, who is so not the right person to ask.  
James shrugs.  
  
"Chaps", Andy all but pleads. "Can I get one more hour of professionalism out of you, just one? Then you can bugger off and carry on with whatever it is you were doing. Although I would be very grateful if it didn't involve any actual strangling. We've only just started the new series and the brass wouldn't be pleased."  
  
"Don't worry, Andy, we're good", Jeremy says and it's _such_ a lie.  
Richard snorts.  
  
But they all three obediently file out, one after the other, to go mingle with the crowd.  
  
James tries to put everything aside while he's talking to the fans.  
Some of them have waited years for a chance at tickets.  
For some of them it's the experience of a lifetime.  
The least he can do is honour that.  
  
By the time he finally feels it's ok to call it quits, what with the crowds mostly dispersed, the other two have disappeared. Andy waves him off when he asks if there's anything left he can help with, and so, for the next twenty minutes, he sits in his Panda, staring through the windscreen, trying to decide what to do.  
  
He can't, for the life of him he can't decide, so in the end he puts on some turbulent Beethoven, dials the volume up and lets the car decide where it wants to take him.  
  
He isn't surprised when he ends up in front of Jeremy's high end London flat.  
He _is_ surprised to spot Richard sitting on the wall that encloses the property.  
  
James hands his keys over to the valet (yes, Jeremy is _that_ posh) and Richard hops off the wall, strolling over as if they'd agreed to meet here, as if he'd expected James.  
  
"I sure hope you tip well", Richard says once he's in earshot, watching the valet grapple first with the Panda's clunky door and then with its sticky clutch. "I bet when he got the job here he thought he was done driving heaps of junk like that. I bet it said so in the job description. _'Tired of driving old, beaten-up Fiats? Apply with us and you'll drive the newest model Porsche or Ferrari for the rest of your working days_'!"  
  
James just stares at him.  
  
Richard sighs. "You didn't actually think I'd let it go now, did you?"  
  
James doesn't know what he'd thought exactly, hadn't even known he'd end up here, so he shrugs and leads the way.  
  
"It's Wednesday", he says, once they are in the lift and on their way up.  
  
"So?" Richard asks.  
  
"Wednesday is Laura’s night", James points out.  
  
Richard rolls his eyes. "Jesus Christ, James", he groans, but then the lift doors ding open and they set off down the corridor towards Jeremy's flat.  
  
The door is unlocked.  
James can't even bring himself to be surprised.  
Not by this, nor by the fact that Jeremy is sitting on his expansive sofa, three glasses of gin and tonic untouched on the table in front of him, ice melted into watery smears.  
  
"Took you long enough", he huffs, but judging from the pure relief on his face it could just as well have been _'wasn't sure you would come'_.  
  
"I didn't know we had plans", James says carefully.  
  
"We didn't", Jeremy admits. Sighs. "I'm glad you're both here."  
He looks at Richard, looks him straight in the eyes: "Sorry about earlier, mate. I guess I came on a bit strong."  
  
"Yeah, you did." Richard sits down next to him, reaching for a glass. "Don't do it again or I will punch you. For real this time."  
  
Jeremy doesn't joke, doesn't justify, just nods earnestly and reaches for a glass himself and that alone makes James hurry to get some alcohol of his own.  
  
"Cheers", Richard says, tipping his glass towards Jeremy in both acknowledgement and forgiveness. "I was probably a bit of a cock myself."  
  
Jeremy says "Yes, you were" at the same time that James says "Were you aware that you were?"  
  
There’s a beat of silence and Richard blinks at first one, then the other. "Uh, no. Still a bit confused about it all. But this is where you're going explain it to me, I hope."  
  
James and Jeremy look at one another, both hoping the other will do the talking.  
  
"Okay”, Jeremy says at last and takes a hearty swallow of G&T. "Why are you wearing the ring, Richard?"  
  
"Why not?" Richard counters promptly. "It's pretty. I like it."  
  
Silence.  
Gin sipping.  
More silence.  
  
"Okay guys, listen. You've been weird. So you're shagging. I get that. But would someone tell me what the deal was, today? What does that damn ring have to do with any of it?"  
  
James looks past Richard at Jeremy, who hides behind his glass, being no help whatsoever.  
  
After a few seconds of Richard's best inquisition stare, distributed evenly between the two of them, James sets down his glass and digs his keys out of his pocket. Lets the ring dangle freely.  
  
Richard looks at it with zero comprehension.  
  
James isn't sure if he really is this oblivious or playing for information. Probably the former, judging from his questioning glance at Jeremy.  
  
James extends a leg and kicks Jeremy in the shin.  
  
"Oy, stop it, you pillock", Jeremy complains, but he gets it and obediently fumbles his own ring out of his wallet.  
  
Richard stares in round-eyed incomprehension. Then: "Oh! Oh my god! I hijacked your symbol? Is that it? Mate, I had no idea! I didn't even know you were getting it on without me!"  
  
"Christ, Hammond!" Jeremy finally explodes. "Don't you get it? For a moment there I thought you were doing it on purpose to throw us off and I bet my lighthouse so did James!"  
  
"I'm not that much of an arse", Richard protests, indignantly. "Why would I do that?"  
  
"That's what I was trying to find out!" Jeremy shouts. Then, calmer: "I know you wouldn't. It threw me, that's what happened. Again, I'm sorry for the King Kong act."  
  
Again, Richard raises his glass, an imitation of his reaction to the first apology. "Cheers."  
  
Another silence.  
James tops up their glasses. Gin straight, no tonic.  
More sipping.  
  
And then:  
"I lied." Richard sets his glass down decisively.  
  
"You... what?" Jeremy looks up in confusion and Richard looks down, turning the ring around and around on his finger.  
  
"The ring. I've kept it because... Well, I liked it. We all liked it. And it seemed kind of symbolic. Three rings, for the three of us. The way we found them. That night, that night was perfect. So us. So much fun. I wanted a reminder. Of what we have. That's why I kept it. And when something seemed off... it seemed like you were drifting away from me and I wanted... But I didn't know you were... well. That." He slips the ring off his finger and lays it on the table. "I’m sorry."  
  
He has that lost puppy look. The one that can get him everything from Jeremy. The one even James isn't immune to, and not for lack of trying.  
But this time, it seems genuine.  
  
Jeremy looks from the ring to Richard, to James, and back again.  
  
And James has a sudden burst of clarity.  
  
"Isn't that the reason we carry it, too, Jez?" he asks quietly.  
  
"Well, I sure do", Jeremy says.  
  
"Because something seemed off?" Richard asks and Jeremy clips him around the head.  
  
"Because it's a symbol for what we have, you muppet."  
  
"You and James", Richard clarifies and yes, ok, intervention needed.  
  
"Don't be daft, Richard, you're not that much of an idiot", James says, roughly. "It's all about the three of us. And while Jeremy and I might be... uhm, doing _that_, ultimately it's still all about the three of us. And as long as Laura is ok with it, you're always welcome to join us. You've got to know that. Always."  
  
Richard stares. "Why would Laura not be ok with it?"  
  
Jeremy sighs. "She's an amazing lady, Richard, James and I like her, so don't bollocks it up, okay?"  
  
"Mate. In English, please?"  
  
"Goddamnit, Richard, are you really going to make us say it?" Jeremy exclaims.  
  
And James decides that yes, it really is the time to do so. He holds onto his glass, lets his hair fall into his face, and makes himself jump.  
  
"We know it's all just fun for you", he says without looking at either of them, and his voice is surprisingly steady. "But I think I may have been in love with the two of you for years. And I think maybe Jeremy is a little past the fun stage, too? Right, Jez? Yes. So. We get it, Richard. We do. You made this happen in the first place and we'll be forever grateful. Whatever you're willing to give, it's enough. But Jeremy and I... Well. It's serious. And for keeps, I hope."  
  
Richard looks at Jeremy as if for confirmation.  
  
"Past the fun, forever grateful, take what we can get, for real", Jeremy parrots, looking rather stunned.  
  
So does Richard.  
  
"Have you both gone completely mad?? It's Laura who is the fun, _you two_ are the real deal!"  
  
Shattering silence.  
  
"Oh", says James.  
  
"Yes, 'oh'", Richard snaps and he sounds genuinely annoyed. "I didn't think I was very subtle now, was I?" He looks from one to the other, eyes blazing.  
  
"I... can't quite decide if I need to drink more or to stop drinking", says Jeremy.  
  
After a moment's consideration he takes another healthy gulp but sets his glass down afterwards, pushing it out of reach.  
  
"Laura...", James says.  
  
"Laura", Richard interrupts, "Laura is, as you have correctly pointed out, an amazing lady and a very good friend. And as fantastic as it might have been, getting it on like once a month with you two doesn't quite cover it for me. And I was certainly never subtle about _that_!"  
  
"So Laura knew..."  
  
"Of course Laura knew, what do you take me for, a cheater?"  
  
Jeremy, with his own glass out of reach, unceremoniously plucks Richard's from his hand and downs the contents of it in one go. "I could manage more than once a month, you know", he chokes, liquid courage obviously helping matters.  
  
That finally startles a snort out of Richard.  
He looks from one to the other, then shakes his head in exasperation and steals James' glass.  
  
James shrugs. "Maybe we should have talked sooner", he mumbles, and that sets both the others off laughing.  
  
"Yeah, _maybe_ that would have helped", Jeremy chuckles and Richard sniggers "Call the Daily Mail, Captain Slow wants to talk about _feelings_" and James surges forward and kisses the smirk right off his face.  
  
"But is it even possible to be in love with two people at the same time?" Jeremy muses, watching them.  
  
James disentangles himself from Richard, rises up on his knees and yanks Jeremy forward by the collar of his shirt. They meet in a click of teeth and a bump of noses over Richard's head and Richard giggles, tilting his own face back and then there is playful grappling for attention and kissing in alternate order and more than a little bumping and bruising. After a particularly fierce nip James draws back, chuckling under his breath.  
  
"Must be. Because I certainly am."  
  
And it's so insane, so wonderfully insane, to be able to say that, and out loud too, and get smothered in a three-way hug for it.  
Richard wraps himself around him and James hides his face in his shoulder, half ecstatic and half embarrassed, and a second later Jeremy is there, slides in and engulfs them both in a big embrace, squeezing tight and holding on.  
  
And it's so thoroughly overwhelming, even James himself can't quite tell if his breath is hitching with laughter or with something else entirely, and that's when he has to draw back, breathe. Because, well. Reality. Countenance.  
  
"What now" he asks and it might sound a little hysterical. "Whatever do we do now?"  
  
Jeremy sits back, immediately giving James space.  
"Now Hammond takes his ring back." He picks it off the table and offers it up in his flat palm, revealing the fact that sometime in the midst of it all, he has slipped on his own. "And then the two of you can make me something to eat, I'm starving."  
  
Richard flips him off with two fingers. "Dream on, mate. You know how the phone works."  
  
Jeremy sighs dramatically. "Useless, the both of you, completely and utterly useless. Whatever is it that I see in you?" But he gets up and walks towards the kitchen. Turns around in the doorway, looking back at where they are both still sitting on the sofa, undecided.  
  
"You know where everything is. Get settled, I'll sort out dinner." He looks Richard over, gaze turning from assessing to leering. "Don't suppose I have midget sized clothes. But feel free to help yourselves."  
  
James and Richard look at each other. Then Richard shrugs. "Well, I wasn't exactly planning on staying over, but I'm certainly not leaving now, so might as well take a shower."  
  
"Race ya!" James calls in a sudden burst of exuberance, and then they are both bolting down the hallway.  
  
Richard wins, of course, and James refrains from joining him.  
Not this time.  
Not without Jeremy.  
  
He stands in Jeremy's bedroom, suddenly shy and undecided, contemplating Jeremy's wardrobe, wondering if he really is allowed.  
He doesn't hear Jeremy approach but doesn't even startle when a hand settles on his shoulder, a kiss ghosts over his neck.  
  
"Help yourself", Jeremy repeats, low and sincere. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, nudges him forward and then he's alone again.  
  
"I have a second shower, remember?" Jeremy calls from somewhere down the hall.  
  
James nods, then shakes himself. "Yes", he croaks. Clears his throat, tries again. "Yes!" It's probably loud enough this time because he can hear Jeremy laughing.  
  
He carefully slides the wardrobe open. It feels illicit and intimate and exciting. James' hand trembles when he selects a plain white t-shirt and the blue button down he so loves to see on Jeremy. He hesitates, but adds a pair of boxers to the pile. No way will he wear today's for another night, especially not when he's, well, expecting company in bed.  
  
The thought sends a shiver down his back and a wave of happiness through him and he laughs out loud, finally relaxing.  
  
"What's funny?" Jeremy calls from the kitchen when James pads past it on his way to the second bathroom.  
  
He is stopped as much by the question as by the heavenly smell emanating from it. The detour is too tempting to resist. "You", he says and then is pulled up short by the sight that greets him.  
  
Jeremy is stirring the contents of a pot, wearing a ridiculous, garishly coloured apron.  
  
"When you said sorting out dinner... ", James says slowly, "I wasn't really thinking of homemade..." he trails off, unsure.  
  
"Pho", Jeremy supplies sheepishly. "I wanted to ask you over for dinner sometime this week, anyway. 'S why I had the ingredients." He blushes bright red.  
  
"Oh", James says, continuing to stand in the middle of the kitchen, feeling the blush spread on his own face.  
  
Luckily the soup bubbles over and the spell is broken.  
  
"Go shower already, I want a turn, too, and someone will have to keep an eye this. Not trusting Hammond", Jeremy grumbles, pulling the pot off the heat and mopping up the spill.  
  
James flees the room.  
  
He showers as quickly as possible, studiously avoiding thinking of the fact that Jeremy is cooking one of his favourite dishes for him. Had _planned_ to do so, expressly _planned_ to invite him over for a home-cooked dinner.  
  
Jeremy.  
Cooking.  
For him.  
  
Like an actual date.  
  
It's too staggering to even consider.  
  
He showers.  
Slips on the ring first.  
Jeremy's boxers, his own jeans. It's warm enough to go barefoot.  
The undershirt fits alright and James shrugs the blue shirt on over it, leaving it open and rolling up the sleeves.  
He catches sight of himself in the steamed up mirror, has to stop and polish it with a towel to get a better look.  
It takes his breath away.  
  
It takes Jeremy's breath away, too, judging from the look on his face and the way he swallows hard when James re-enters the kitchen.  
  
They can hear Richard crashing around between the bathroom and Jeremy's bedroom and share a fond smile.  
  
"Surreal", Jeremy whispers and James nods, shrugs, nods again and then steps forward and into a kiss.  
  
A second later they are both doubled over with laughter at the sight of Richard in one of Jeremy's track bottoms, cuffs rolled up, string pulled tight, and a t-shirt that could just as well be a dress.  
  
Richard flips them off with a casual, two-fingered salute on his way to the pot, but he can't keep the straight face up for long.  
  
They are laughing, laughing until all three are in tears, laughing until Jeremy is on his knees on the kitchen floor and James has to prop himself up on the counter and Richard is draped over the back of a chair. Laughing until they can't breathe anymore, gulping in air in big, wheezing, hooting breaths.  
  
"Sod off!" Richard wheezes eventually. "It's not my fault I'm in love with a bloody giant!"  
  
Ah well.  
  
That sobers them all up rather quickly.  
  
"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Can we please ignore I said that?"  
  
James nods dumbly.  
Jeremy thrusts the ladle at him, says "watch the soup" and all but runs out of the room.  
  
Awkward silence.  
  
"So does that mean I might get fed, but have to put up with your Asian crap?"  
  
The attempt at changing the subject could hardly be any weaker but James jumps at the chance nevertheless.  
  
"Hang around for long enough and we will imbue you with some amount of culture yet", he says, turning to the pot and tasting.  
  
It's alright. He's not sure what he'd expected, but it's really quite alright. A bit bland, maybe, but totally edible. Quite enjoyable, even.  
  
He holds out a spoonful for Richard to taste. "It's not even spicy, look."  
  
Richard's tongue darts out, carefully licking just a drop off the tip of the spoon. He then grabs James' wrist, though, guiding his hand so he can swallow the whole spoonful.  
  
"I can actually eat that", he says, surprised.  
  
The consideration on Jeremy's part.  
Jeremy, who thinks everything on the bottom half of the Scoville scale tastes like water.  
It's almost too much for James to take.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Richard sets the table. James opens a bottle of wine. Jeremy reappears, looking all damp and appealing.  
  
Dinner isn't perfect.  
There are curdled bits of egg Richard fishes out among vociferous complaining.  
James has to get up and get the salt shaker from the kitchen, tipping half of its contents into his bowl in one go.  
The noodles are, well, stubborn to say the least, and when Jeremy tries to slurp them, it sends a messy spray of soup over the table and into their faces.  
  
But it's edible, quite alright even, and the wine is good and there's laughter and piss-taking and James' gaze gets drawn, again and again, to their hands.  
Their rings.  
The identical rings on their hands.  
  
And when Jeremy reaches over, a quick, innocuous gesture, when he closes his hand over James' beringed fingers and gives them a squeeze, well. No one can blame him for counting this as the best meal of his entire life.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They end up back on the sofa afterwards with the rest of their wine, all three yawning, tired from the filming and the emotional roller-coaster that had followed it.  
  
Richard leans into Jeremy's shoulder and with a bemused, perplexed smile in James' direction, Jeremy puts his arm around him. Richard sighs and manoeuvres himself even closer, wriggling into a more comfortable position.  
  
James snorts but refrains from saying anything. He doesn't want to shatter the moment.  
But honestly, who would have thought Richard was a cuddler?  
  
After a long period of companionable silence, joint yawning and wine sipping, he does it anyway.  
  
"We really should talk."  
  
"What, more?!?" Richard.  
  
"Why??" Jeremy.  
  
"Because we're sitting here on the couch and if we don't talk, we might just as well move it to the bedroom."  
  
James' ears burn, he can feel the blush rise, but he holds their gazes.  
  
After a moment, Richard sits up and holds out his hand. "By all means, May, take me there."  
  
James' fingers close around Richard's, over the cool band of metal. He tugs him up from the sofa and into a kiss, distantly registers Richard extending his other hand to Jeremy, and then James is towing them both into Jeremy's bedroom.  
  
It could have been romantic, or maybe it would have gotten awkward.  
  
But then Richard trips over the cuffs of the oversized bottoms he's wearing and there's giggling and sniggering and James grabs him by the waist, throws him onto the bed and gets those trousers off him without further ceremony.  
  
Of course Richard isn't wearing underpants. Of fucking course.  
  
James is briefly, very briefly, derailed. But he recovers quickly and then he's down on his knees and on Richard's cock, enjoying the feeling of it hardening in his mouth.  
  
He plays with it for some time, not earnestly making an effort, just testing the waters. And Richard's reactions.  
Which, despite some panting and cursing, are decidedly less pronounced than Jeremy's.  
  
It's a whine. It's an honest to god whine, coming from the direction of the door.  
  
James pops off and smirks at Jeremy, who's got one hand on the collar of his shirt, trying to work a button open, while at the same time palming his crotch with the other.  
  
"Not fair", he croaks. "My kink."  
  
"So you think that gives you exclusive rights or what?"  
  
It provokes a breathless giggle from Richard. "I love it when you're like this", he groans, pulling James forward into a kiss. "I bet you have no idea how sexy you are, right?" And James wants to call bollocks, but Richard looks at him with big brown eyes full of sincerity and awe and James is lost.  
  
Richard's eyes flick to Jeremy. "You, too. So hot."  
  
"Bollocks.” Jeremy says it, what James didn’t, but it sounds timid and almost like a question.  
  
"Idiots, both of you", Richard pants. "You really have no idea."  
  
"You're not so bad yourself", James smirks. "But you're right of course. He easily beats you when he's in full kink mode." They both laugh while Jeremy splutters indignantly.  
  
"Oh, come here already, you idiot", James eventually takes mercy on him, beckoning him with his finger. With the hand with the ring. He is so incredibly conscious of it.  
  
"Richard is right", Jeremy says, stopping in front of the bed, looking down at them. He reaches out and runs a hand through James' hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. "You're beautiful like that. All sexy and confident and in my shirt..."  
  
"Richard is always right", James says. Because fact.  
He was right about Vietnam. And the M4. Right about the cat.  
Right about Jeremy's oral fixation.  
  
"Can I have that in writing, please?" Richard pipes up, but Jeremy silences him with a pointing finger.  
  
"You, on the other hand", he says, "you look ridiculous!"  
  
And with that he launches himself onto the bed, at Richard, barely giving James the chance to leap out of the way. There is a tussle, and tickling, and yelping, and giggling, and then the oversized shirt Richard was wearing goes flying.  
  
"There", Jeremy says, sitting up and admiring his handiwork, puffing and panting. "That's better."  
  
James laughs, laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs, the big one, the heaving one, the loud one, the one that makes him sound like either a goose or a donkey, depending on who he asks. It turns hitchy and hysterical and uncontrollable, and Richard kneels up, gathers him in a hug, and it's not as if that should help, having a stark-naked co-presenter wrapped around him, but when Jeremy joins in, too, saying "whoa, James" and "alright James" and "easy there, James", it does.  
It really actually does.  
  
"What are we doing", James chokes as soon as he's able to. "What the fuck are we doing?"  
  
"Who cares", Richard says and Jeremy says "shhhh" and there's freaking moisture on James' cheeks and where the hell did that come from, must have been all the laughing. And they hold him and stroke his hair and lay him down and they undress him, slowly, carefully, sweetly, and then Jeremy undresses himself and pulls the duvet over them all and they lie naked, entangled, with James between them, whispered nonsense, fluttering kisses, soothing caresses.  
  
And when the nonsense turns into words it's repetitions of "who cares, who the fuck cares" on Jeremy's part and "god, I love you, I love you both" on Richard's.  
  
It does not help James' leaking eyes. It makes them worse.  
  
But it helps everything else.  
  


* * *

  
  
They don't fuck that night. They don't have sex. They make love.  
  
It's long, and slow, and sensual.  
  
James has never felt so loved.  
  
Jeremy sucks them off, impossibly slowly, alternating between James and Richard.  
  
They are his to please, to use as a means to let go, and he is theirs to hold through it, to put back together afterwards, to keep safe.  
  
They take their time, working Jeremy up, and then down again.  
  
Turn their attentions to Richard after that. Richard, who is young and virile and energetic and good to go again.  
  
And again, not long after that, when he’s fucking James into Jeremy's arms, pushing him closer and closer into Jeremy's chest until all three of them are one, until all three come yet again, one after the other. And it’s the first time for Jeremy without oral stimulation, the first time just from feeling James move against him, just from watching Richard move inside James.  
  
None of them can bring themselves to move away from the others afterwards, not for inches, not even for seconds.  
  
They are sticky and damp, so what does it matter if they fall asleep in a sticky and damp bed?  
  
James sleeps soundly, deeply. Cocooned between his two lovers, wrapped up between them, and it's surprising, astonishing really, because James has always valued his space.  
  
But rules are suspended when it comes to Jeremy and Richard.  
Always have been.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
James wakes in Jeremy's arms to Richard's face inches away from his own, watching him with a soft smile playing around his lips.  
  
James smiles back, hesitantly, still half expecting the illusion to shatter before his eyes, to wake up and find himself in some non-descript hotel room some place or other. Or alone in his bed in Hammersmith.  
  
But then Richard reaches out a hand, the ring on his index finger gleaming in the light from the window, runs his knuckles over James' cheek, gently pushes the hair out of his face and James melts.  
He closes his eyes and, on a liberating exhale, allows himself to believe.  
This can be the future.  
Their future.  
  
They lay there for a precious eternity, just smiling at one another, Richard's fingers tangled in James' hair, James caressing the arm that is clutching him to Jeremy's chest, gently playing his fingers up and down from elbow to wrist, like on a delicate piano.  
  
Jeremy grumbles himself awake slowly, nuzzling tickly kisses into James' neck, his hair, then reaching over and pulling Richard closer by his upper arm.  
  
"Still here", he mumbles, half a question, half a statement.  
  
"I've got nowhere else to be", Richard says, and that reminds James of something.  
  
"I do", he says. “New Routemaster bus review at nine." He yawns, completely unbothered. Nothing really matters, now.  
  
Jeremy shoots up, effectively dislodging James and knocking him into Richard. "Oy", Richard protests, but Jeremy ignores him, gaze frantically swivelling between the alarm clock and James.  
  
"I'm... not sure you're going to be able to make that in time, May", he says.  
  
James shrugs, but he does get up to Richard giggling "Truth, mate!" and takes himself to the bathroom.  
He even hurries up a little.  
  
But he doesn't forget to slip off the ring and reattach it to his keys.  
  
They meet back in the kitchen, Richard in oversized Jeremy-boxers and yesterday's shirt-cum-dress. Jeremy in a robe, James back in his own jeans and Jeremy's blue shirt.  
  
"Don't think you'll mind if I borrow this again?"  
  
Jeremy's leery smile is answer enough.  
  
"Tea or coffee, mate?" Richard asks, holding up a still sealed packet of loose leaves. "Surprisingly, Jezza _does_ have some decent stuff."  
  
James looks at Jeremy, who turns bright red and is suddenly very busy with the toaster.  
  
"Tea, please", James says, feeling the grin spread over his face.  
  
It's a tea kind of day.  
A 'fully grounded in reality, allowed to dream without the danger of getting lost' kind of day.  
  
"You don't actually have time for this", Jeremy says gruffly, setting a plate with toast in front of him. "But I can't very well send you off without breakfast after last night's exertions."  
  
James laughs, starting to butter some toast. "Don't worry, mom. I texted Phil, it's alright, they're delayed, still trying to get the electric motor to work. The battery is giving them trouble again."  
  
Jeremy looks extremely relieved and it's beyond endearing.  
  
"Alright, then." He brings more toast and sits down opposite from James with a mug of coffee.  
  
Richard follows with the tea pot and sets it on the table to steep.  
  
They eat in silence.  
Jeremy scrolls through his Twitter feed, Richard pours tea before turning to Twitter himself.  
James chews, sips tea, really decent tea, and mentally goes through his lines.  
  
He's done and about to get up when Richard suddenly looks up at Jeremy in wide-eyed disbelief. "Are you out of your mind, Jezza??"  
  
"No", Jeremy replies dryly. "Quite the opposite indeed. I'm a genius, you should know by now."  
  
And okay, that's alarming.  
James sits back down.  
  
Richard holds up his phone, showing James the picture Jeremy has just posted. On Twitter. Publicly. The picture of them wearing the rings after the Warsaw Live Show. To more than a million followers.  
  
James' blood runs cold.  
  
"I didn't exactly want to go public", he says dully.  
Not sure if it's true, but he certainly would have preferred to be consulted about the decision.  
  
"Relaaaax", Jeremy says. "We're not. Well. Not yet." He waves his ringless hand in front of their faces. "No one will suspect a thing. I mean, it's too absurd, isn’t it? But provided we _do_ get found out. And the Daily Fail or whoever tries to make a big deal out of it." He taps at Richard's phone, lighting up the screen again so that the picture is visible. "We just tell them it was never a secret, that we've been open about it from the start. Sabotage the story, make them look dumb for not realising sooner. Ought to shut them up quickly when we need it. Piece of cake. Genius."  
  
He grins at them, smug and pleased with himself.  
  
Richard shakes his head. "I hate to say it, but that actually _is_ quite clever", he says, watching James carefully.  
  
"I'm... not sure how I feel about it", James says and Jeremy loses the grin, shifts uneasily. "About you calling this absurd".  
  
There's laughter. And kissing. And more laughter. Two retweets. More kissing. A quick comparison of schedules. An agreement on when and where to meet again.  
  
And then it's kisses goodbye, and James is on his way.  
  
With his heart full of love and his mind at ease.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
And somewhere in rural Poland, a local artist specialising in fine metalwork jumps up and down in front of her laptop and _squeals_.


End file.
